Deity
by Freya Ishtar
Summary: Draco's come to suspect he might have Veela blood, after all, and that his mate might be a girl he's tried to protect, despite loathing her. Yet, the truth of his lineage is far more unique than that, and Hermione will learn how much fun that truth can be. Though even their fun comes at a price as she also learns a truth about herself she never imagined possible. *SPORADIC UPDATES*
1. First Revelation

**THIS IS A REPOST.** I originally posted this fic a while back, pulled it because all my Dramione-inclusive plunnies died on me. But now they've been stirring back to life, so I decided to give them second chance.

Those who read these works before my mass Dramione Deletion (or who read these works in my Unfinished Dramione PDF), please note that aside from minor changes and editing fixes, the content of the previously posted chapters has not changed. All returning Dramiones will be updated weekly until all previously-available chapters are posted. At that point, the fics will continue until completion, but will fall under my 'sporadic updates' label. Feel free to reference my profile, PM me, or ask in your review and I'll get back to you ASAP, if you'd like a list of which other titles are (or may be) returning.

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 **Disclaimer** **:** I do not own _Harry Potter_ , or any affiliated characters, and make no profit, in any form, from this fic.

 *** Cover & Banner Art Attributions: Photo by Victoria Gugenheim, featuring model Ian Hencher. I do not own the image [I claim only the text design & overlay], and make no profit from its use (and just in case that whackadoo who swore it was a devil returns to love on me, again . . . Nope, he's _still_ a satyr XD).**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

First Revelation

He'd been avoiding her for months. Not that it should matter, not that it should make any single iota of difference, but somehow . . . . Whenever he even so much as passed her in a corridor, he couldn't help feeling a weight press on him, growing heavier at each step he took without acknowledging her presence in some way.

As though somehow _his_ attitude toward her could ever be important.

Draco stopped midstride, his shoulders hunching as a tremor wracked him. Turning to look out the window, he pressed his palms against the cold stone of the sill. The contrast of the chill in his hands to the wash of heat dancing over his skin only served to highlight the pain battering against the top of his forehead, rather than ease it, as he'd hoped.

The restlessness, the pain, the fever, even the odd tingling of pin-pricks at his scalp and along his jaw . . . . He'd felt all these things before—in the months since the War—but individually, not all at once like this.

Blinking his exhausted eyes open, he stared out at the Dark Forest. A sense of quiet stole over him as his gaze touched upon moonlight dappling the shadowed canopy and slicing through the branches here and there in delicate splashes of muted silver.

Odd how the sight of that forest he hated so much had such a calming effect on him.

His lips pulled back from his teeth in a sneer. He'd loathed that place from the very first moment he'd set foot there. Like it was yesterday, he could recall that awful bloody detention, wandering the darkened woods with Potter, and the oaf of a groundskeeper, and Grang—

The pain and the heat tore through him again and he turned from the window, pressing his back to the wall. He slid to the floor, tearing at the buttons of his black nightshirt.

What a mess he probably looked right now, he thought, as he peeled off the shirt and tossed it aside. He'd only been trying to make his way to the school hospital, and yet here he was, on his knees, sweating buckets, probably wild-eyed and disheveled from the discomfort.

Every time he thought of her, something like this happened. Maybe the rumors were true.

The whispers had floated every now and again, ever since that Delacour girl had come to their school during their fourth year, causing everyone and their brother to research Veela. The _Classic Malfoy_ _Appearance_ , they said, coupled with the air that they were better than everyone—the notion made so much sense. And of course, how could his constant crankiness be an indication of anything _other_ than being some creature who couldn't find its mate?

That last one was a contribution from Pansy and Blaise putting their heads together. He'd nearly wrung both their necks for it.

Ridiculous he'd thought it all.

Until he realized there _was_ one girl from the start who'd been on his mind, all the time, regardless of reason. One girl whose attention he'd always been trying to gain, whose focus he'd constantly tried to have centered on himself.

Who he'd even acted to protect a few times, despite how flimsy and overlooked those attempts were.

He laughed as he shook his head. So was that it, then? His thoughts had drifted around the idea, but he'd never actually allowed the words to surface, before.

Was it that he really _did_ have Veela blood, and Granger—of _all_ the girls in the Wizarding world—was his mate? He ignored another stab of pain. Was this what happened when one avoided the very possibility of such a thing?

 _Ridiculous_ , he thought again. Granger would sooner gouge out her own eyes with her wand than let him lay a finger on her.

The pain tore through him once more, so sharp this time his vision blurred and he collapsed to the floor.

* * *

Hermione sat up, grumpy at the intrusion. She'd been dreaming some peaceful forest scene—peaceful and a little blush-inducing, if only she could remember the person who'd been with her.

Until Crookshanks had seen fit to smack her awake. She frowned at the beast, supposing in hindsight that she should be relieved he'd not had his claws out for that _decidedly_ rude wake-up call.

The ginger Kneazel-cat hopped down from the bed and trotted to the door.

He looked back at his witch, flicking his tail impatiently.

Her eyebrows drew upward as she met the feline's displeased red-brown gaze. "Oh, okay, then," she whispered, giving her head a shake and grabbing her wand as she climbed out of bed to follow.

She grumped and fussed inwardly as she trailed her familiar through the castle. She'd barely remembered to shove her feet into her slippers, and her dressing gown lay forgotten atop her trunk, leaving her to shuffle along behind the cat in her _barely_ knee-length nightdress.

Bloody hell, she normally didn't even wear these stupid things—far too girly for her tastes, and serving no real function—but Mum had insisted that she should have a few pretty things after all she'd been through last year.

Not as though it mattered. Hogwarts wasn't the same, anymore, anyway.

Dumbledore and Snape dead, Harry and Ron not returning—catching Ron with Hannah at the party to celebrate winning the War. Ginny was with her, still, and they shared both their dorm, and many classes, but still it wasn't the same.

Hermione's frown deepened as she followed Crookshanks down the staircase, across a platform, and down another set of stairs. Were they heading to the main floor? Why?

The oddest part was how very much she noticed that Draco Malfoy wouldn't even look at her. She always thought she'd be relieved the day he stopped bothering her, but now . . . . Something in his avoidance of her made everything else that was wrong with their eighth year sharper and more painful.

That was stupid, she knew. Yes, sometimes it felt like it'd been the four of them sharing in what'd happened at Malfoy Manor during the War. She remembered so clearly how he'd looked at her, his father and Bellatrix screaming at him to confirm who she was.

But he'd refused. Just as he'd refused to identify Harry.

Ron and Harry never acknowledged that if not for Draco's attack of conscience, they might never have survived long enough for Dobby's rescue.

She laughed quietly and shook her head. It didn't matter what he did, she supposed, as none of it erased what an awful person he had always been to them, did it?

Her shoulders drooped as her steps stilled a moment. If that was so, then why did it sting that he wouldn't even glance in her direction?

Crookshanks made an irritated snuffling sound, drawing Hermione's attention back to the moment. Blinking rapidly a few times, she nodded.

"Right, sorry," she whispered, falling into step behind him, once more.

As they were about to round the next bend in the corridor, Crookshanks halted. Hermione halted behind him, wand at the ready.

The cat looked up, waiting for her to meet his gaze before he turned his head and sniffed in the direction where the walls curved.

Body drooping a bit, she shook her head. "Fierce companion you are," she said as she stepped around him and continued further down the passageway.

As she rounded the bend in the corridor, she froze. Further along, there it was, what Crookshanks had been leading her to.

Her breath caught in her throat, and her wand arm fell limp at her side. Soft, hazy moonlight streamed through the window, casting an ethereal glow on the thing before her.

It looked like a man, but . . . .

The creature struggled up to sit on his knees, visibly catching his breath as he brought trembling fingers up to touch the dark, gleaming horns curving artfully from the top of his head. Long, silver-gold hair spilled around his shoulders and down his back. Lean, pale muscles in his arms and abdomen twitched as he jerked his hands from the horns, as though they burned his fingertips.

Hermione's heart clenched painfully in her chest. He was absolutely _beautiful_ . . . . But he seemed scared, too. Frightened of . . . himself, how odd.

She didn't know if she should go, or stay. Perhaps this was some apparition the castle residents didn't know about. Or he was something that had stumbled in from the Forest and needed aid?

She couldn't leave him here, then! But . . . what if he was wild and attacked her? Only . . . as she looked closer—leaning forward, she hadn't budged a step, yet—she noticed the bundled up black shirt nearby, a match for the nightclothes bottoms he still wore.

Okay, perhaps a student afflicted by a curse, then? Nodding to herself, she understood the best course of action would be to fetch Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall. Even if he was gone by the time they returned, they would know to be on the lookout for such a creature roaming the castle grounds.

Yet, rather than leaving, she found herself walking toward him. _Hermione, you idiot, he could be dangerous_. Even as she thought these words, she drew closer to him.

* * *

Draco gave a start at the sound of footsteps approaching and squeezed shut his eyes. He was hallucinating, he knew, already. He _didn't_ have horns sticking out of his head, his hair _hadn't_ grown to his waist in a matter of moments, he _couldn't_ hear sounds from the Forest echoing in his ears as though he stood out there, among the trees.

Her fingers itched to touch the horns, almost as though to see if they were real as she finally reached him. Lowering to her knees before him, she set down her wand, curling her hands into fists as a reminder to keep them to herself.

Hermione's heart hammered against her ribcage, but oddly, she felt her cheeks grow warm and the skin on her lips tingle as she watched him shake his head, his long hair trailing down, obscuring his features. She tipped her head this way and that, trying to get a good look at his face.

"Do you need help?"

Her whispered voice set loose a tension Draco hadn't realized he'd been holding. He tipped his face up, breathing deep, even as he shook his head, once more.

Rather than speaking out of relief, all he could think to say was, "Granger, what are you doing here?"

At the first true glimpse of his features, Hermione had sworn she was imagining that it could be Draco Malfoy in front of her. But that voice . . . .

"Draco?" she asked, unable to help herself as she leaned forward and cupped his cheeks with her hands.

Her touch jolted him and he opened his eyes, meeting her confused gaze. She hadn't realized who he was at first? That couldn't be possible, unless . . . .

Unless something really _had_ happened to him.

"Do you see them?"

Hermione blinked as she processed the question. The glittering silver-grey of his eyes was making it tough to think, as was the bit of golden scruff lining his chin and jaw that kept tickling the edges of her palms.

Biting her lip to keep from laughing at the absurdity of the question—and to distract from the feeling of wanting to simply lean closer and closer to him—she tore her gaze from his and looked to the horns gracing the top of his head.

Good Lord, what was _wrong_ with her? She needed to focus, and this was _Draco_ bloody _Malfoy!_

"You mean your horns?"

His shoulders drooped and he slumped forward just a bit. "I'm not hallucinating, then." He was trying desperately to ignore the sudden urge to pull her against him.

To ignore the image playing through his mind of pressing her to the floor and tearing off her nightdress. Wincing, he shook his head.

"Do they hurt?"

"No," he said, but something in her asking—in her feeling concerntoward _him_ —tugged at him. "My head _did_ hurt, until they . . . broke free, I guess."

Without thinking, Hermione let go of his face to grasp one of his hands in hers. "C'mon, we should get you to the hospital."

She stood up and took a step, but he didn't move. Frowning, she pulled at his hand, as though she believed he simply hadn't noticed her movements.

He met her gaze, a frown playing at the corners of his mouth. "I don't want to go. Please, don't make me."

With a frown of her own, she sat back down in front of him. "What'd you mean, you don't want to go?"

Draco rolled his eyes toward the top of his head and gave a side-to-side nod. "If you looked like this, would _you_ really want people to see you?"

Oh, dear . . . . Of all things to feel in this moment, Draco Malfoy was _embarrassed_? Again, Hermione had to force down a laugh. This was clearly troubling him, and she didn't want to make him feel worse. She thought she might also be finding more humor in this than there actually was.

For heaven's sake, _what_ had gotten into her tonight?

"Well, you shouldn't be worried about that, you look . . . you actually look . . . kind of . . . ." Hermione shook her head, clearing her throat uncomfortably. She dropped her gaze from his, hoping the moonlight illuminating the corridor washed away the blush she felt in her cheeks.

Draco's eyebrows shot up at the implication of what she _wasn't_ saying.

"And, besides, I'm relatively certain you weren't a _satyr_ when you went to bed a few hours ago, now were you?"

Glittering silver eyes widening, he unconsciously tightened his fingers around hers. "Is that what I look like?" He turned in a swift motion, unaware of Hermione swatting away a lock of his hair that had swung around, nearly slapping her in the face.

"What? What is it?"

He breathed out a sigh of relief as he turned toward her again. "No goat legs, thank _God_. But, um . . . it seems I've got a tail."

She couldn't help her snicker this time, only aided by the way he flicked said tail behind him, at last drawing her attention to the appendage. "Maybe that's only your Greek brethren, then. Maybe British Isles satyrs only get the fancy headgear and, um . . . rear-attachment."

Draco actually laughed at that, and the sound was oddly musical to Hermione's ears.

Again clearing her throat, she pulled at his hand. "We really should get you to the hospital, Draco."

"Look, I'm sure it'll go away by morning."

Hermione shifted to sit cross-legged, staring at him as though he'd sprouted a second head along with the horns. "Where'd you get a daft idea like that?"

"I had a dream the other night." Draco bit his lip as he shook his head, he hadn't made the connection until now, because he'd lacked context. "I was out in the Dark Forest, and I saw my reflection in some water. _This_ was how I looked—I think, I mean, other than the horns and the _ungodly_ amount of hair sprouting from my head, I've no idea—but when morning came, I was myself, again."

"So you dreamed about this?"

Her incredulous tone made him scowl. "Oh, be fair, Granger. Until _literally_ just now, I had no reason to think that dream was caused by anything more than a spot of spoiled pumpkin juice, or something."

"Okay, ignoring that you still don't know what caused this, or if it will return—what if you _aren't_ yourself again by morning?" She propped her free hand on her hip. She couldn't be certain why she was still holding his hand—or why he was letting her—she only knew she didn't really want to let go, just yet.

" _Then_ I'll go."

Nodding, she reached over, pulling his wadded up nightshirt close and setting her wand atop it. Then, resting her elbow on her knee, she dropped her chin against her palm.

And she was absolutely _not_ thinking that Draco Malfoy was actually sort of dashing with facial hair. No, she hadn't for a second there wondered what that golden scruff would feel like scraping against her skin.

 _Dammit_.

Draco had thought she would leave—he refused to acknowledge that he didn't actually _want_ her to go—and was surprised to find her simply sitting there, watching him expectantly, instead. "What're you doing?"

"Waiting."

His brows creeping up his forehead, he darted his gaze about. "For what?"

Hermione shrugged. "Sunrise." She felt a triumphant thrill zip through her as he cringed—dirty liar, he had _no_ intention of going to the hospital in the morning! "I'm going to make certain you go if you're still all . . . ." She let her sentence end right there, aware that the word she'd been about to use was also an American idiom with a _totally_ different meaning.

Draco might not get it, but she did, and she was having enough trouble keeping her wits about her tonight.

"If you're not back to normal," she said, shaking her head and trying to play it off as though she'd merely lost her train of thought.

Swallowing hard, Draco nodded. Suddenly, the air around them felt thick and awkward. He hadn't expected that she would stay. He'd actually been hoping to scamper off into the Forest and never be heard from again if this wasn't gone by morning.

But now, as he brought his gaze back to her, he found her staring at him. He was utterly ignoring the way the moonlight cast the thinnest slip of a shadow beneath her bottom lip, and how her brown eyes were tilted at the corners, almost feline-like. Or how long her lashes looked, framing those eyes.

He'd noticed all these things about her before, but _now_? Now he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his mind from wandering off about this. Under all that wild brown hair, Granger was actually rather— _Stop that!_

"Um . . . ." Hermione didn't know quite what she was thinking, only that her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

When she paused uncertainly, Draco couldn't help the suspicious half-grin that curved his mouth. "What?"

She chewed on her bottom lip a moment, a giddy bloom of warmth flickering in the pit of her stomach. "Can I touch them?"

Again, he laughed, and again Hermione had to repress the most pleasant shudder at the sound. What _was_ this? Was there something in the air she wasn't aware of? Was it some affect this strange form of his had on her?

"You're serious?"

"Absolutely." Hermione was only aware of the way the words sounded _after_ they'd fallen from her mouth as she said, "C'mon! How often is it a girl gets to play with a satyr's horns?"

She folded her lips inward and her eyebrows drew up as his shoulders shook in a silent chuckle.

"Well, when you put it _that_ way, sure," he said, amusement lacing his tone.

Feigning a frown, she shook her hand free of his and leaned closer. She reached up, delicately trailing her fingertips down from the top, over the ridged curves.

Draco couldn't help himself as he asked, a nervous tremor in his voice. "What do they feel like?"

Hermione smiled, a sense rippling through her that this was oddly familiar, somehow. "Smooth, like polished bone."

"I have to ask. Do they look awful?"

"No," she said, shaking her head as her fingers slid to the bottom, where the ends met his hairline and disappeared. "They're actually sort of elegant."

He felt her fingers trailing down through his hair and lifted his gaze, meeting her eyes. The whole time she'd been so close just now he'd kept his attention fixed on the floor beside her.

"Elegant," he echoed, strangely aware of her face so near to his.

She nodded, wondering why she couldn't take her hands from him. "You're sort of beautiful like this," she whispered finally, unable to keep the words in.

Draco had seen Hermione Granger's eyes up close many times over the years they'd known one another. Only now, as he leaned nearer, as he felt her breath ghosting warm over his lips, did he wonder where those flecks of rich, forest green around her pupils had come from.


	2. Second Revelation

**Chapter Two**

Second Revelation

Hermione shuddered as his lips brushed hers. Her eyelids drifted down for a moment, only to snap open, again.

Draco pulled back, his gaze searching hers, worried he'd made a misstep. He felt a soft warmth beneath his hands and realized he's slid his arms around her, his palms pressing to the small of her back.

He'd not even noticed he'd moved.

She dropped her attention to her fingers still trailing through his hair. Down, over his shoulders and onto his chest. She withdrew for only second, before reaching out, once more.

His head dropped forward a little and the air caught in his throat at the sensation of her fingertips stroking across his bare skin. Each breath he drew as she touched him only seemed to make the act more intimate.

He concentrated on her face, on the way she tipped her head to one side and bit into her bottom lip as she watched the movement of her own hands over him.

Surprising them both, she leaned forward, pressing her lips to the side of his neck. She tilted her face, her eyes drifting closed as she nipped at his skin, delicately dragging her teeth along the pulse in his throat.

Hermione let out an ecstatic squeal as his arms tightened around her, yanking her into his lap. This was _Draco Malfoy_ , she reminded herself in a shrill tone, even as she slid her arms beneath his hair and around his neck. Even as she continued nibbling at the warm, steady thudding beneath her lips.

She knew she shouldn't give in to this, but everything about this moment—his embrace, the taste of his skin, even the sound of his quickened breaths in her ear as he dropped his forehead down against her shoulder—felt far _too_ natural to stop.

As though this was a thing that _should_ happen . . . . Should? But she'd never—

The very idea of that startled her and she snapped her head up, wide-eyed and sitting pin-straight in his arms.

Draco shifted back enough to meet her gaze, his glittering eyes clouding over in concern. His brows drew upward and he tipped his head a bit, the question left unspoken.

"We shouldn't do this," she whispered.

He nodded, unable to stop his attention as it drifted away from her eyes, down her cheek, to dance over her mouth. "I know. This is . . . wrong, isn't it?"

She nodded back, but just as quickly she leaned into him, again. Her hands slid down, along his sides, fingers tickling at the lean muscles there as she closed her mouth around his bottom lip, lapping and suckling at the soft skin.

Groaning, he sank his hands between them, cupping her bum beneath her nightdress and pulling her more tightly to him. There was something so delicious sounding in the whimper that worked its way out of the back of her throat.

Hermione felt a warm, giddy pulse ripple through her as Draco shifted his body beneath hers so that she fit against him. She could tell through the flimsy barrier of her knickers and his nightclothes that he was hard.

She knew that should frighten her, but it only made her want to tear away those barriers.

He broke the kiss, dragging his lips down, along her throat and over her collar bone. His teeth raked and nipped over the soft material of her nightdress as he moved lower, still.

Gasping, she arched her back, pressing herself more closely to his mouth as he teasingly bit at her breasts.

She had no idea what she was doing to him, he thought. She had no idea how good it felt to have her clinging to him like this, or how sharply he could feel the damp warmth between her thighs through their clothing.

He slid his hands down, clamping them over her hips. In response, she slipped her own up into his hair, cupping the back of his head with splayed fingers. Draco shifted beneath her again, and it spurred her into motion, so that she was rocking against him.

He threw his head back, inhaling sharply at the feel of her moving over him. He'd not expected _that_. But sooner than he could think, she'd brought her mouth back to his throat, lapping and nipping hungrily at his skin.

Hermione felt the tugging, and heard the snap of elastic somewhat distantly. Unlike moments ago, the realization of how far they were taking this so very, _very_ fast—the understanding that he'd _literally_ just torn her knickers off, like some scene in a trashy romance novel—didn't give her pause.

Instead, she found herself rising up on her knees over him, allowing him room. _Dear_ God _, Hermione! What are you doing?_

She ignored the voice in her head as his hand moved beneath her, freeing himself from his nightclothes. Bracing for the pain, she moved with him as he once more grasped her hips and pulled down, entering her in a single, steady motion.

But the pain she expected never came.

Sweet, sharp tingles laced her skin as she moved over him, rocking against his thrusts. She met his gaze, holding those silver-grey eyes with her own as she bit her lip, keeping back a moan.

She watched his face, watched the way his mouth shivered as he breathed, and the wash of color that flooded his pale cheeks, barely visible in the moonlight. It didn't escape her that he was watching her just as intently.

Her hands slipped from his hair, down to grasp his shoulders, giving herself leverage. She pushed down against him, a shuddering breath escaping her at the sensation as he sank into her just a little deeper, and delighting in the way he made a little hissing sound from behind clenched teeth.

He dropped his head down onto her shoulder as before, his hands rocking her over him faster. The way she trembled in his embrace sent a delicious shock through him.

Hermione leaned close to him, her grip on him tightening as she felt her muscles growing taut. A warm, sweet pressure was building, directing her actions on instinct.

Shifting, she braced her knees against the floor, grinding herself against his jerking motions until she simply _couldn't_ , anymore. Her body stilled over his, quite of its own volition.

She threw back her head, unable to stop the moan that fell from her lips as she came.

"Dear _God_ ," he said, the words no more than a growled mutter as he pulled her down against his thrusts, which only grew more erratic as her body clenched _so_ sweet and tight around him.

Hermione screamed behind closed lips as it ebbed, instinct once more driving her as she started moving over him, again—exactly at the moment that he stilled beneath her. Tingling aftershocks rippled through her, even as he drove into her, deep and hard, one final time.

She worked herself against him slowly, coaxing him as he spent himself, until she was certain he was finished.

Rising up again, even as they each caught their breath, she eased him back, into his nightclothes, and righted them. She sat down once more, letting her head fall against his chest.

For a long moment, she simply listened to his breath. Listened to his inhalations grow slow and steady by increments until he was breathing normally.

He gently nudged her face up with his shoulder, meeting her gaze.

"What did we just do?" she whispered, shaking her head.

Draco started to shake his own head in reply, but then paused. His arms tightened around her to hold her protectively to him for a moment. He'd just . . . .

"Did you hear that?"

Hermione's brow furrowed as she tipped her head side-to-side, listening. "No," she said, her voice barely a thread of sound, but then . . . .

No, hearing wasn't quite right, but . . . . She _sensed_ something, as odd as that seemed. Just _there_ , on the edge of her perception.

Slipping from his arms—despite his obvious reluctance to let her go, or her own reluctance to move away from him—she stood. Or, she tried to; she wobbled for a moment, unaware of precisely how unsteady and irritatingly jelly-like her knees were just now.

She pressed her palms to the stone sill as Draco climbed to his feet beside her. If she'd been in her right mind, she thought, she'd have puzzled over how he turned, placing himself between her and the open space of the castle's window as they looked out toward the Dark Forest.

There, in the dappled moonlight beneath the trees, Hermione and Draco could make out their shapes.

She shook her head, blinking a few times in rapid succession as she processed her disbelief. "The centaurs?"

Only able to stare back at them for a moment, Draco was uncertain what to make of their presence.

Some bizarre instinct clawed at him, then. He lowered his chin a little, turning his curious gaze into something sharper and more menacing as he shifted his weight, placing himself more squarely in front of Hermione.

He wasn't positive, but he could swear he saw the creatures _nod_ , before they turned as one and disappeared into the depths of the Forest.

She backpedaled a step, glancing from him, to the treeline in the distance, and back. "What was that, then?"

His shoulders drooping as his body slumped a little, he shook his head. "I've no idea."

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes, finding herself in her bed. Blinking hard, she bolted upright and looked about her dorm room. She had absolutely no recollection of how she'd gotten back here.

There was only _one_ explanation, then. It had to have been a dream!

She utterly ignored the tingling in her legs as she climbed from bed. And, as she undressed to wash up, equally ignored that she seemed to be wearing a different pair of knickers than the ones she recalled slipping into yesterday.

The sound of ripping elastic echoed through her mind and she froze beneath the water. Could that _actually_ all have happened?

No, no, she . . . . Hermione shook her head. She could simply be misremembering, that was all. Yes, that sounded logical.

Far more logical than losing her virginity to Draco-the-bloody- _satyr_ in a school corridor last night!

Repressing a shudder—of regret? No, just her luck, it was of _want_ —she returned her attention to bathing. A blissful dream, that was all it _could_ have been.

* * *

"Hermione!"

She looked up at the sound of Ginny's voice, reluctantly admitting to herself that she'd been watching the toes of her shoes the entire way down from Gryffindor tower. As though she didn't want to risk accidentally meeting the gaze of some wizard, in particular.

Dream or not, the blush that would color her cheeks was bound to cause embarrassment. Embarrassment, and at least _some_ degree of misunderstanding.

Smiling as she met Ginny's gaze, she hurried to her friend's side.

She set down her bag, but just as she was about to take her seat, she felt a warm, sweet tremor dance up her spine. Frowning, she turned, looking behind her.

Draco Malfoy stood in the open double doors of the Great Hall—appearing very much like himself, again.

As their eyes locked, Hermione noticed . . . . _She_ wasn't the one blushing. But he had no reason to look at her like that unless . . . .

 _Oh, dear_ Lord _, no!_

"Hermione? Are you okay?"

Hermione tensed at her friend's question. She turned back to face Ginny, her stomach turning itself inside out.

She didn't want to lie, but she could hardly tell her the truth. "Um, you know what? I feel a bit queasy this morning, I think maybe it's best I skip breakfast this once."

Picking up her bag, she slung it over her shoulder before Ginny could protest. "Sorry, I'll just, um . . . . Head to the library to do some reading before classes."

"Oh, okay, I'll go . . . ." Ginny had turned away for a moment to grab her own bag, but Hermione was already hurrying out the double doors, pushing past an unusually bewildered-seeming Draco Malfoy, by the time ginger-haired witch turned back. ". . . . With you?"

Ginny's shoulders drooped as she watched her friend vanish. Hermione had just seemed _off_ , recently. She wasn't even certain the other girl noticed it, herself.

Shaking her head, she returned her attention to her breakfast. Hermione would come 'round and tell her what the problem was when she was ready.

* * *

Hermione wrestled the tomes back to the table, grateful the library was empty this early.

Sighing, she hung her head a moment before pulling a scroll, a bottle of ink, and a quill from her bag and setting them down beside the ancient, leather-bound books. Last night actually _happened_!

She was still having trouble believing it, but there it was.

Biting her bottom lip hard, she shook her head and sat down heavily. Why was she sad? It—as much as she wanted it to be— _wasn't_ because of what had happened.

No. She knew, deep in the pit of her stomach that it was because logic dictated that she should make certain it _never_ happened again.

"So—?"

She jumped in her seat, snapping her head up to meet Draco's slightly-lighter-than-usual grey eyes. He stood in the library's open doorway and she wondered how long he'd been there.

Sighing at her deer-in-the-headlights expression, he stuffed his fists into the pockets of his trousers and strolled to her table.

Hermione forced a gulp down her throat, certain she _was_ blushing, this time, as he drew near.

"We're just going to ignore that last night happened, are we?"

Letting out a shivering breath, she nodded, dropping her attention back to the books before her. "Oth—other than finding some way of breaking whatever mad curse has been placed on you? Yes!"

Offering a nod of his own, his chewed his bottom lip in irritation as he pulled out the chair across from her and sat. He flipped up the covers of the weighty books.

" _Faerie Creatures of the British Isles_ and . . . _A History of Transformative Curses_?" Pouting thoughtfully, he nodded.

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him to leave, but just as quickly shut it again, closing her eyes tight against a sudden, unexpected upwelling of tears. She drew in a breath and let it out slowly, forcibly calming herself before she could speak.

What the _bloody hell_ was wrong with her?

"Can you please just go?"

There was something in her tone that cut at him. Some edge of hurt that confused him with its sharpness.

She _had_ to understand that something odder than them shagging in a corridor while he had horns growing out of his head was going on here. The centaurs showing themselves so close to school grounds? The change in her eyes—even from here, he could see, still, the splash of green against the brown. Was it actually more noticeable, now? But none of that could be sorted if she refused to even _acknowledge_ last night.

Scowling, he shook his head and folded his arms across his chest, leaning back in his chair. "No, I don't think I can."

Her frame slumped and she opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with a pleading expression. "Why not?"

Again with that voice that made him feel like he was wounding her. But why did it hurt _him_ to hear her like this?

"We need to talk about it, Granger."

Hermione frowned, shaking her head. Why couldn't he just _leave_? She was so uncertain about him, about what had happened, that it was _actually_ causing her pain, couldn't he see that?

"I don't want to."

Draco drew in a breath and let it out slow before sitting forward to lean his elbows on the table. "At least tell me why not?"

"Because I—" She bit her lip, dropping her voice to a barely-audible whisper. "Because I've never done _that_ before, Draco! I don't know _what_ came over me last night, but I didn't want my first time to be with some who's already so . . . ."

His eyebrows shot up as he waited for her to finish.

She gave a sideways nod. "With someone like _you_."

Draco's jaw dropped a little as he understood. He knew perfectly well the sort of things Pansy had claimed happened during the course of their went-on- _entirely_ -too-long relationship.

"I see." He nodded, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth downward. "And—barring love, or any of that sentimental rubbish—you wanted your first time to, at _least_ , be with someone who has the same level of experience as you?"

Hermione seemed to collapse in on herself, pulling back in her chair and folding her arms beneath her breasts, almost mirroring his posture from just a few moments earlier. "Well, I know it's a lot to ask in this day and age, but _yes_! I wanted it to be with someone I can learn _with_ , not someone who'd try to school me. Is that so bloody wrong?"

Nodding, he darted his gaze about the tabletop. "Not at all."

She breathed a sigh of relief as he stood and started away. Shaking her head, she immediately returned her attention to her books.

"Although . . . ."

Again, Hermione jumped at his voice, wondering briefly when he'd gotten behind her. He must've rounded the desk on the far side once he'd determined that she was distracted, enough.

"I should tell you that Pansy's got a _flair_ for exaggeration."

Hermione repressed shiver at his voice in her ear, at the feel of his breath on her throat.

"Granger, consider that I have no reason to lie when I tell you this . . . . Last night was _my_ first time, too."

He stepped around her chair and started toward the doors, again. "Makes you think maybe there was something more to _you_ being the one who found me last night, hmm?"

Draco glanced back at her, feeling a hint of triumph at the surprise in her gaze. "When you're ready to figure out what actually happened in that corridor, you know, together—like adults who've survived a bloody war, or something—come find me." Speechless, Hermione watched him disappear through the library doors.

She'd been _his_ first, too? Could that actually be true? She desperately wanted to believe he was lying, but then he was right in what he'd said. He had no reason.

Shaking her head to get her bearings, she returned her attention to the books in front of her—to focusing on the more pressing concerns left in last night's wake. She was, of course, totally ignoring that her sadness from just minutes ago was now replaced by a strange, giddy warmth.


	3. Third Revelation

**Author's Note** **:**

Firenze's physical appearance in this fic is based on his description from HP book canon, not how he was portrayed in the films (it'll come up in the next chapter).

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

Third Revelation

"Satyrs, satyrs, satyrs," Hermione said, muttering the word as she ran her fingertip down the index. "Ah, there we are. Okay."

She flipped to that section and began skimming through. Normally the very idea of skimming paragraphs made her brain itchy, but just now she wanted at least _one_ solid answer before she had to head off to class—where she would be faced with sitting in the same room as Draco for an extended period of time.

"Creatures worshiped for their purity, yet often misunderstood due to their inherent love of pleasure." Hermione had to stop reading right there.

As innocent as the line, itself, was, it conjured far too many sense-memories from last night. The texture of his skin against hers, the feel of his teeth nipping at her through her nightdress, the way he moved his hips beneath her as he—

Shaking her head, she forced a hissing breath out from between pursed lips. Honestly! _Clearly_ whatever had affected her in that corridor last night still had not entirely drained from her system.

"Purity," she whispered, shaking her head.

She knew there was a certain, strange innocence in what happened between them last night. She was also quite aware that pleasure, in any regard, was considered sinful, but only due to societal norms and cultural convention. Even so, she couldn't fathom that what she and Draco had done together was _pure_ in any way.

"They've obviously never met _my_ satyr."

Hearing her own words, her eyes widened and she jerked her head up, glancing around the library. Of course, the place was still just as deserted as when Draco had strolled out only a few minutes ago, leaving no one around to hear her. Her shoulders drooped in relief and she again shook her head.

She knew perfectly well that she hadn't just meant that as it sounded, but the effect of that sentiment was still a little jarring. After all, he didn't think of her as _his_ witch, now did he? He _couldn't_ , she thought, scowling.

That would be _ridiculous_!

Frowning, she returned her attention to the words, skimming again. There had to be something here to explain her own behavior. Maybe some aura the satyrs had?

A pheromone they exuded?

 _Any_ -bloody- _thing!_

Her eyes lit up as she found a connected chapter further along in the text. "Satyrs and Companionship," she read aloud, a satisfied grin curving her lips.

"Though unfettered satyrs have a reputation for taking many lovers, a mated satyr is fiercely protective of its chosen partner." _Fiercely protective?_ That unsettled her a bit as she remembered Draco's behavior toward the centaurs in the distance last night. Even more ridiculous, she thought, giving her head a hard shake.

Looking for some debunking factor in the passage, she continued on. "Very rarely do satyrs take humans as mates. Whether this is a preference, or due to limited contact between the two species is unknown. What has been observed of satyr behavior would seem to indicate that they prefer to find their partners amongst other woodland beings."

Hermione sat back, chewing her bottom lip. Did that mean they weren't mated, or that they were an exception because limited contact was not an issue, here?

The chiming of the bell for start of classes sounded, causing her to jump. Closing the tomes quickly, she stowed her items back into her bag and gathered up the books.

Rushing to the front desk did precious little to hurry her efforts along, as there was no sign of Madame Pince. Sighing as she shook her head, Hermione reached over the desk's short partition to retrieve the librarian's quill & a slip of parchment.

By now the elder witch was more than familiar with Hermione's penmanship, but she left her name, anyway, along with the titles of the books and the date. If Madame Pince trusted anyone with proper care & timely return of library property, it was _her._

"Okay, okay! Off to class," she said in a rushed, breathless whisper as she stuffed the books into her bag and jogged out to the corridor. "And for God's sake, don't even _look_ at Draco!"

This new possibility only ensured she'd not be able to think a coherent sentence in his presence, she was sure.

* * *

Draco had been having far too much trouble getting her scent out of his head. Wild flowers, had she smelled like wild flowers before? Had he simply never noticed? Not last night, nor all the previous occasions when he'd gotten in her face—or she'd gotten in his, for that matter—during classroom arguments?

Sighing, he shook his head, deciding to put it out of his mind.

Until he heard the very distinct sound of Blaise inhaling deeply through his nostrils. "Do you smell that?" the other Slytherin asked, turning his head as he tried to find the source of the scent.

Pale-grey eyes widening, Draco immediately snapped his head toward the door. Sure enough, Granger had just stepped inside.

Her attention was fixed at the front of the classroom, where she directed an apologetic look and a shrug to tiny Professor Flitwick. The professor waved her inside, turning back toward the latest bit of Advanced Wandwork he would be imparting to them, today.

Draco bristled at the notice of Blaise arching a brow as his dark-eyed gaze swept over her. Never mind that Granger was oblivious as she hurried down the row, looking for an empty seat.

Then he became entirely too busy ignoring the way her hips swayed as she stepped. Yet not so busy that it stopped him from elbowing Blaise in the ribs . . . perhaps a _bit_ harder than he should've.

Jumping as he bit his lip to hold in a yelp, Blaise tore his attention from the Gryffindor witch to turn a questioning—and notably angered—look on his friend. "The bloody hell was that for?"

Speechless for a split-second, Draco forced his eyes to roll. "It's _Granger_ , for pity's sake. Pull yourself together, man."

Understanding dawned in Blaise's expression and he nodded—no fussing over Mudbloods, which had never been an issue before, of course. Maybe he was simply having an off day.

"You can sit here, Hermione," Neville called out, a friendly smile curving his lips as he indicated the empty seat beside him.

Draco bit the inside of his cheek to keep from scowling, or responding in any other obvious fashion. But honestly, if it wasn't one thing, it was another! Damn Longbottom, and empty seats, and two-person desks!

It was bad enough the once-frumpy Gryffindor wizard had changed so much in the summer since the War that he was even giving Pansy fits, but now _this_?

Draco sat back a moment as he understood quite how ridiculous he was being. He had no claim over Granger, nor should he care to _want_ one. Blaise, Longbottom, hell, he didn't care if Viktor Krum strolled into the classroom, just now and stole her attention for the rest of the bloody school year!

Didn't care one little bit.

A tension drained from Hermione and she nodded, slipping into the seat and opening her bag on the desk. "Thank you, Neville," she whispered, not wishing to disrupt class any more than her late arrival already had.

As she settled in, Neville's nostrils flared just a little. He turned his head from one side to the other, before he looked to Hermione. "Oh, that's _you_ ," he said, his voice low as to not disturb the lesson, himself.

Hermione shook her head as she took out her text and opened it to the proper page. She was trying not to look at the books from the library—she did not have the luxury of her mind wandering during class. "What's me, Neville?"

He shook his head, she must've simply changed perfumes, or shampoos, and not realized the difference was so obvious. "That smell."

She stopped in mid-motion of uncapping her ink bottle and turned enormous eyes on him. "I . . . I _smell_?" she asked, horrified. Had she been in such a state this morning that she'd forgotten her deodorant or something?

"No, no, I—" Neville cut himself off, chuckling.

Professor Flitwick cleared his throat, and Neville glanced toward the front of the room, nodding to the teacher. He waited until the tiny wizard turned back to the lesson.

Shaking his head once more, he lowered his voice to a whisper. "No. It's not bad, it's like flowers."

Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion. What nonsense was this, now? Grabbing a constantly wayward lock of her wild hair, she pulled it in front of her nose and sniffed.

Neville only chuckled again. Her wide-eyed response to his observation was adorable. He'd been reluctant to think of Hermione Granger in any such way ever since the petrification spell she'd hit him with in first year.

Only . . . . "Huh," he said, a thoughtful frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Never noticed your eyes are actually hazel."

Hermione didn't realize her head was tipping nearer to Neville's as her eyebrows shot up, as though she wanted him to take a closer look, so he might see he was wrong. "My eyes aren't—"

A slam from the back of the classroom cut into their conversation and everyone turned toward the noise. Draco was standing, his hands flat against the top of the desk in front of him.

She felt a stirring of ice in the pit of her stomach as she watched him straighten up and step out into the row. He turned away, calling over his shoulder as he walked toward the door. "Sorry, Professor, I'm not feeling very well. Going to see myself to the Madame Pomfrey."

After the door shut behind him, Hermione found herself meeting Blaise Zabini's eyes. To her curious expression, he only shrugged and shook his head.

Hermione sorted through the timing. Had that been about _Neville_?

Sooner than she could stop herself, the observation slid out from between her lips, "Oh, Malfoy forgot his things."

Professor Flitwick waved distractedly at her. "Oh, well . . . Miss Granger, could you go bring them to him, please?"

Her shoulders slumped and she dropped her head a moment. "Yes, Professor."

Neville gave her a sympathetic look as she slid from her seat. Her head hanging, still, she marched to Draco's desk, where she collected his things and shoved them into his bag. She was far too caught up in her own musings just now to notice Blaise watching her the entire time.

Hurrying out of the room—she didn't want to be away from class any longer than absolutely necessary—she was surprised to find that Draco hadn't gone to the school hospital, at all. He stood just a little ways further along the deserted corridor, his forehead pressed to the wall.

Forcing a gulp down her throat, she approached, her footfalls light. Even so, she knew perfectly well that he was aware of her presence.

"Draco?"

He didn't answer.

"Here," she said, shaking her head as she set his bag down beside his feet. "Professor Flitwick asked me to bring you your things."

Still nothing.

She should turn around and just go back to class. As with last night, it seemed what she knew she _should_ do, and what she _ended up_ doing, were quite opposite of one another.

"Draco? What happened just now?"

A mirthless laugh choked out of him, then. "I . . . saw how close you got to Longbottom and I just . . . ."

He turned his head, meeting her gaze. From the way she shook her head as she stared back at him, it was clear she couldn't believe what she was hearing, any more than he could believe what he was saying.

He seemed so confused. She shouldn't care in the slightest, yet seeing him like this tore at her heart.

What a perfectly irrational response. But, she supposed, no more irrational than him storming from the classroom. She needed to tell him what that book said. Maybe it _was_ true, after all.

"Well," he said, shrugging, but unable to meet her gaze. "It was leave, or stay and battle the temptation to tear his head clean off."

Hermione's face fell. Though she felt sure she didn't know how to respond, what she found herself doing was closing the distance between them to press her palms against his chest. Some instinctive attempt to calm him, perhaps?

"Draco, I don't understand what's—"

He batted her hands away, only to slip one of his own into her hair and pulled her close. His splayed fingers cupped the back of her head, and he tilted her face as he brought his mouth crashing down over hers.

Rather than pushing him away, she slid her arms up around his neck, pressing herself against him as she parted her lips. Caressing his plunging tongue with her own, she was acutely aware of the way he leaned into her, of the way his other arm slid around her hips, pinning her to him.

He broke the kiss, his breathing harsh as he touched his forehead to hers.

After a silent moment—aware that all the nervousness and uncertainty that had sat on her like a weight since waking up that morning had fled—she asked, "Better?"

He nodded, his eyes still closed as he swallowed hard.

He lowered his mouth toward hers once more, and she found herself standing on her toes to meet him.

"I _do_ hope I'm not interrupting something."

A thrill of alarm shot up Hermione's spine and she all but tore herself from Draco's embrace. Spinning on her heel, she turned to face Professor McGonagall.

"Um, Professor!" When she couldn't find anything with which to follow that up, Draco nudged her from behind.

Giving a start, Hermione sputtered. "I—I was just bringing Draco his things. Professor Flitwick asked me to, and well . . . ."

Minerva McGonagall's eyelids fluttered in rapid blinks as she held her favorite student's gaze mercilessly. "And one of Mr. Malfoy's assignments somehow found its way into your teeth so he had no choice but to try and dislodge it with his tongue, I suppose?"

Hermione dropped her attention to her shoes, a furious blush coloring her cheeks. _Dear God!_ It wasn't what the elder witch had just said, no, it was the deadpan expression with which she'd spoken.

"No, we just . . . . We just got caught up. I'm _really_ sorry, Professor, it was unlike me. Malfoy _was_ going to the hospital, I'll just return to class, now." Without another word, Hermione turned, stepping around Draco, and hurried to the classroom door.

Professor McGonagall switched her attention to Draco the moment Hermione was gone.

He opened his mouth to speak, but just as quickly snapped it shut. Grabbing his bag, he slung it over his shoulder and started for the hospital wing.

Minerva shook her head, her lips pursing. Of all the things she thought she might see in the corridors of Hogwarts, these two like _this_ was never among them.

"Teenagers," she said with a sigh.

* * *

After Draco's absence the rest of the day, Hermione didn't know if she was relieved or frustrated at not seeing him. She fought down the urge to seek him out—no _way_ was she setting foot in the Slytherin dungeons. How on earth would she explain her presence there? A sudden, uncharacteristic concern for Draco's well-being?

 _That_ would go over well.

The only thing that had stopped her from interrogating Crookshanks about his role in leading her to Draco in the first place had been Ginny walking through the door. Just as well, as that endeavor wasn't likely to earn her many answers.

She couldn't even bring herself to open the books she'd taken from the library. She wanted to, but after what had happened earlier—honestly, what was _with_ her and Draco in empty corridors?—and what it could mean from what she'd read so far, she was starting to think it really was best that they research this matter together.

Hermione winced as she rolled over in bed. Provided they could actually focus on something other than each other's lips and hands long enough to get any actual work done.

And Draco Malfoy had such _beautiful_ hands, now that she was thinking about it. His fingers were—

"Oh, dear _God_ , Hermione, stop it," she said to herself, the words hissing out in a lethal whisper as she pulled her pillow over her head and waited for sleep to claim her.

 _She stepped cautiously, strangely aware of the forest floor beneath the thin soles of her slippers._

 _Everything was so peaceful, the sound of small creatures scurrying through brush soothed her._

 _As things_ should _be._

 _Should be? Those words . . . ._ A thing that _should_ happen. _Just as she'd thought last night when she'd been with Draco._

The recollection jarred her, and she jumped at the shock, her eyes opening.

"I'm not dreaming," she whispered, finding herself standing at the edge of the Dark Forest.

"No, you are not."

She recognized that voice. Turning, she looked up, meeting the centaur's gaze.

"Firenze?"

"You should not yet be here. It is too soon, still," he said, shaking his head.

Hermione could hardly believe she'd sleepwalked all the way out to the Forest. Yet, here she stood. Just as she could hardly believe one of the centaurs had—apparently—come to greet her.

Yet, there _he_ stood.

"I don't understand. What's too soon? What were you all doing here last night?"

His massive shoulders moved in a shrug. "We were witnessing."

As if that was an answer. "Well, yes, _that_ I'm sure of," she said, hoping her blush wasn't terribly obvious just now as she wondered if—even though they couldn't have _seen_ , what with the wall in the way—they'd heard the noises she and Draco _must've_ made last night.

"Can you tell me what's happening to Draco?"

Again, Firenze shrugged. "That conversation would have to be for his ears, as well."

"Okay, but—?"

"It is _you_ who must wake."

Hermione stopped short, whatever she'd been about to ask dying on her lips. "What?"

The centaur only held her gaze, waiting for his words to sink in, she thought.

"But I am awake."

"No." He shook his head, his tail twitching as he clomped backward a few steps. "You are conscious, and you are not dreaming. But you are _not_ awake."

Hermione felt that weight drop right back onto her as she stared up at him, a thousand questions screaming through her head. Though she knew how the centaurs adored their cryptic messages.

 _Not_ awake _? How does he mean that?_ Just when she thought Draco was the only one they had to worry over.

* * *

Draco bit his lip, holding in a groan. He lifted his hand, scratching at the edge of one of his horns. No matter how he tried, it seemed he couldn't sleep like _this_.

Though, he supposed that was a blessing in disguise, as he couldn't imagine Blaise's reaction to finding a satyr in their dorm room.

He found himself wishing Granger would trip over him, again. It wasn't like he could sneak into Gryffindor tower, he thought with a derisive laugh, trailing the trips of his fingers along the stone wall of the castle corridor as he walked.

Draco halted mid-step, straightening as he darted his gaze about. "How did she find me last night?" he whispered as he furrowed his brow—an odd feeling, in how it shifted the weight of his horns ever so slightly.

He turned his head, glancing through the window and out toward the Forest. His heart thumped hard against his ribs as he noticed her out there.

His chin tipped toward his chest and his eyes narrowed into a glare as he saw the centaur who stood before her.


	4. Fourth Revelation

**Chapter Four**

Fourth Revelation

The wind brushed past them, tossing the long ends of Firenze's white-blond hair about. He turned his face toward the gust of air, inhaling deep. His expression twisted into one of mild thoughtfulness as he glanced up toward the stars, and then finally returned his attention to Hermione.

She was more than aware something was wrong before he opened his mouth to speak. "Firenze, what . . . ?"

His eyes—so painfully blue, even in the darkness—narrowed a bit as he shook his head. "A misunderstanding has already occurred," he said, as though that explained everything.

Hermione's shoulders slumped and she pursed her lips a moment. _Bloody centaurs_. Normally she appreciated their pensive and somewhat exotic nature, but just now she only found it frustrating.

" _I_ don't understand." She shook her head as she opened her mouth to speak again, but then she heard it. Footfalls—quick, and heading straight toward them.

She instinctively reached for her wand as she turned in the direction of the sound. She remembered too late that she'd sleepwalked there and her hand came up empty.

Firenze didn't seem startled in the least. His calm veneer didn't stop her from backpedaling, her stance defensive as she tipped her head to peer around his flank.

In a corner of her mind a voice nagged and shouted—she was ready to bolt into the Dark Forest, of _all_ places, for safety? Madness, she thought, shaking her head again, despite that her body continued to slink backward of its own accord.

A warm, gentle weight landed on her shoulder and she looked up. Firenze had reached a hand down, steadying her in her retreat.

Meeting her gaze, he shook his head, his long hair tickling in the breeze. "You are in no danger, Lady."

Before Hermione could think to question the title, she felt the same sweet zip through her system as she had earlier that morning. The need to flee died away instantly as she realized.

"Draco?"

Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him draw near. Shirtless and barefoot, as he'd been last night, his long hair whipped behind him as he moved. His glittering silver eyes were narrowed in a lethal glare, and those oddly elegant horns crowning his head glinted beneath the moonlight.

"Take your hand _off_ her!"

Firenze made a face that Hermione thought just might be his attempt to repress rolling his eyes—perhaps centaurs had a sense of humor, after all—and dropped his hand from her shoulder. He turned, bending down on his front legs and tipping his head forward in a bow.

Draco, uncaring of the gesture, pushed Hermione back and stepped in front of her, all but shielding her from Firenze.

"Draco, stop," she said, remembering quite suddenly his reaction to Neville merely getting too close to her. The centaur had been _touching_ her, and she had no idea what Draco might possibly be capable of in this nocturnal form of his.

"No disrespect to you, Horned One, or to Our Lady." Firenze's muscles quivered before he raised his head and stood straight, towering over the bipedal creatures before him. "I will leave you now, if you so wish."

"Horned One?" Hermione echoed in a whisper, obviously Draco _had_ horns, but wasn't _that_ actually a title of worship? Was the same to be said for this _Lady_ business?

Without realizing, she took a step toward the centaur, the question on her lips, but Draco shot his arm back and around her, pulling her against him.

Holding Firenze's gaze, Draco glowered. "I so wish."

Firenze nodded, his eyes shifting to Hermione. "We will speak again, when he is ready to receive the needed words."

Draco's expression darkened, unhappy with the other creature's continued attention on her. Firenze only turned away, taking a few clomping steps.

"Remember not all things are fated as they seem," the centaur said over his shoulder. "Our Lady is with you because she so chooses. Cherish her choice, as what you desire matters not so much as you believe."

Draco's lips pulled back from his teeth in a sneer, but before he could respond, Firenze was trotting off.

"Huh," she said, her tone thoughtful as she stepped around Draco. She watched the centaur disappear into the depths of the Forest and then pivoted to face the wizard-turned-satyr.

He furrowed his brow, his posture much more relaxed now that they were alone. "What?"

"Well, I never would have thought it when you're, you know, _yourself_ , but like _this_ . . . ." She waved a hand, indicating his current state. "There's a actually resemblance between the two of you."

He scowled, shaking his head. It was an odd moment to recall it, but it hadn't exactly been a secret how many of their classmates had fancied Firenze when he'd served as the Divination teacher. As though a pretty face made them ignore that he was half _horse_. Honestly!

Though, here _he_ stood with horns and a tail, and Granger was hardly turning him away.

"Look," she said, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet her lips in a nervous gesture. "I don't know—not for certain—what all the Horned One and Lady business was about, or what he meant just now, but I found out some things that could be—"

Draco pushed her back, stepping forward to pin her to the tree behind her. He captured her mouth with his own, making a satisfied little rumbling sound in the back of his throat when she opened to him.

Even before she realized, her body was responding to him—the feel of his tongue thrusting between her lips, of his chest brushing against the points of her breast with each breath and movement. Her arms slid up around his neck, and she lifted her leg, resting it over the curve of his hip.

Uttering another rumbling noise—oddly growl-like, Hermione thought—he pressed forward, grinding himself between her thighs. She shifted and wiggled beneath his motions, trying to fit against him all the better.

She broke the kiss, just as he braced his palms on either side of her. "Wait, wait!"

Meeting her gaze as a harsh breath escaped his lips, he arched a brow. "Tell me you're joking."

"We shouldn't do this right here," she said, nodding in the direction of the school.

Draco flicked his attention toward the building for only a moment, before looking to her, once more, his glittering eyes tracing her lips. He remained silent, only shaking his head in question.

She had to remind herself to think. He'd halted exactly as he was, leaving him pressed so tight against her that she could feel his already hardened length—delighting her in how easily she excited him—through their clothes. Whether it was serendipity, or wishful thinking that had led her to wearing her nightdress again rather than something more complicated, she didn't know.

She also didn't think she could bring herself to care.

"If anyone wakes and looks out even a single window on that side of the castle, they'll see us."

His jaw fell slack, unable to believe she could really have such a concern at this moment. To prove his point, he jerked his hips, pushing his pelvis tighter against her as he spoke, "You can't tell me you _really_ care about that right now."

Her eyelids fluttered and a delicious little shiver ran through her. Swallowing hard, she shook her head, trying to focus. "Not—not right now, no," she said, hurrying to continue before he could focus on that point, alone. "But I probably will tomorrow morning."

Draco bit his lip, holding in a frown as he spared a moment to think that over. "Does that mean you'll be as big a pain in the arse as you were this morning?"

"More than likely."

Scowling, he muttered from between clenched teeth, "Fine."

Slipping his arms around her waist, he merely circled the base of the tree, blocking the view from the castle. His brows inching up his forehead, he asked, "Better?"

She wasn't about to mention that he'd only moved her closer to the point where Firenze had disappeared. After their interaction just now, she doubted Draco would be thrilled with any word from her regarding the centaurs.

"Well, we could've gone—"

The suggestion died on her lips as he dipped his head, catching her earlobe between his teeth.

Hermione shuddered in his embrace, her eyes drifting closed. "Oh, _God_ , never mind me!"

Draco chuckled at her response, dragging his lips down her throat and lower, still. He hooked his fingers into the straps of her nightdress and pulled them down, adoring the way she shivered as the action exposed her breasts to the cool night air.

Her head fell back, fingers sinking into his hair as he closed his lips around her nipple. His teeth scraped and his tongue flicked, even as he slid one hand down, between their bodies.

She pressed her back more firmly against the tree and lifted her other leg, hooking it around him.

He gave the delicate skin one last, playful nip before letting her breast slip from his mouth. "How do you always know what I want you to do?" As he spoke, he wrested himself free of his nightclothes.

Hermione couldn't help a breathless giggle while she strained to lift her hips toward him just as his fingers tugged her knickers out of the way. "I've no idea."

She cried out as he thrust his hips, sliding into her. Shivering against him as he withdrew and sank forward again, she tightened her limbs, clinging to him.

Draco dipped his head, nuzzling the side of her throat as he felt her body clench around him. He lapped and nipped at her skin, once more making that growling sound under his breath. His hips jerked and he picked up his pace, driving into her hard and fast, again and again.

She loved that sound—something about it sent a little thrill through her, adding a strange edge of sweetness to the tingling warmth washing over her in the wake of each of Draco's thrusts.

He wedged his arms between her body and the tree, cupping her arse with his hands and pulling her harder and faster against his motions. He couldn't help a chuckle at the way it caused her to scream behind closed lips.

A fine tremor wracked her. Her limbs went taut, clinging to him more tightly, still.

Hermione whimpered as she bit her lip, trying to hold herself back. She didn't want this to end so quickly.

He lifted his head, brushing his lips over hers as he spoke. "It's okay, Granger. Let go."

She met his gaze, wincing as she nodded. Pushing her body just a bit more, she cried out as the orgasm crashed over her. She forced her eyes to stay open, watching his expression as he watched hers.

A grin curved his lips as her mouth fell open, the most wonderful gasping moan spilling out. He pulled on her harder, working her over him as she came.

He felt it the moment the tension in her body began to ease, the moment it began to ebb. She started moving on her own, again, throwing herself into his guided motions.

Chuckling breathlessly, his head fell back. "Bloody hell," he whispered as his thrusts became sharper and more erratic.

A mischievous smirk tugging one corner of her mouth upward, she ground her hips, tightening her body's grip on him. He let out a pained groan and she dropped her lips to his throat, biting at the pulse below his ear.

"It's okay, Malfoy," she whispered, her tone teasing. "Let go."

Again with that breathless laugh, he shook his head, even as he drove into her in one last, deliciously hard thrust and stilled. "Cheeky little witch," he said haltingly.

Hermione's muscles shivered as she moved, edging his orgasm out of him. She rocked her hips, forward and back, sliding her body around his length as he came.

She slowed only after she was certain he'd spent himself, entirely, but didn't stop, not until he used his hands on her to halt her motions.

Catching her breath, she slipped back from him. She leaned her weight against the tree and met his gaze with dazed, green-dappled brown eyes.

He braced his palms against the bark, his breathing harsh as he stared back her. Then his gaze traced lower, down her face, over her throat . . . .

Hermione realized too late that he'd not righted her nightdress after pulling it down. Before she could react, he dropped his head, snapping his teeth around one of her nipples.

A sound erupted from her that was somewhere between a yelp of pain and a surprised laugh.

Lifting his head, again, he grinned at her. He shifted his hips, withdrawing from her and once more slid his hand between their bodies to slip himself back into his nightclothes.

He pulled up the straps of her nightdress as she lowered her feet to the forest floor. "Okay," he said, swallowing hard as he nodded. "There was something you wanted to tell me before we started—"

Hermione gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as she stared at his bare chest. He was wearing the same bottoms as last night, but his shirt . . . ?

"Granger?"

"Draco, I never found my knickers."

His brow furrowed. "What?"

Her own brows shot up in response. "My knickers. The ones _you_ tore off me last night and tossed aside? I can't find them anywhere. I don't remember going back to Gryffindor tower last night, but I'd assumed I must've brought them with me. That _clearly_ was not the case."

That glittering silver-grey gaze darted about as he remembered. "I . . . ." He met her eyes again as he shook his head. "I can't find my nightshirt, either."

Hermione's eyes became huge as they both wondered . . . .

* * *

Blinking a few times as he arched his brow, Filch picked up the garment with the end of the broom. He then looked to Mrs. Norris, who was dutifully nudging a second article of discarded clothing toward him.

Glancing back to the first piece, he met his familiar's gaze and nodded. "Oh, someone _is_ in trouble."

* * *

Hermione forced a gulp down her throat as she stared at the items—placed carefully atop a layer of tissue paper on Professor McGonagall's desk. Draco sat in the chair beside hers, and it was all she could do to keep from turning to look at him.

She imagined, however, that he looked just as shocked as she did.

"Professor, I'm not entirely sure why you called us here," she said, her voice lower than she'd like—a tone like that, under these circumstances, was totally suspicious.

Sighing heavily, Minerva propped her elbows on her desk and rested her chin in her hands. Most of the students seemed reluctant to show anything more affectionate than hand-holding since the War had torn through these very corridors less than six months prior. Of course, _this_ had been the last thing she'd wanted to consider—in the course of all her years at Hogwarts—but her uncertainty about their situation, along with what she'd interrupted yesterday morning . . . .

"Forgive the assumption." Professor McGonagall forced a small, mirthless smile onto her lips. "But, please . . . . _Tell_ me these things do not belong to the two of you?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped as she shook her head. She had no idea what to say, but there had to be something. "Professor—"

"Dear God, woman."

Turning, finally, Hermione pinned Malfoy with a mortified gaze. She didn't even _want_ to imagine what Professor McGonagall's face looked like as she observed the Slytherin wizard before her.

"Honestly, thinking these are ours because you caught us snog—"

"You know, Professor," the younger witch said, her heart hammering in her chest as she spun in her seat to meet the woman's eyes. "I do believe those are mine, _but_ "—she ignored that she could feel Draco staring at her in a fit of _what-the-bloody-hell-are-you-doing?_ —"I actually had thought I'd lost them, as I was looking for those _just_ this morning. I honestly haven't the _foggiest_ idea of how they came to be wherever they were found."

Draco nodded, a sudden, odd certainty that he knew where she was going with this pinging in the back of his mind. "Fine, yes. That's my nightshirt, but I don't have any idea, either. I reacted badly, because I didn't want to get into trouble. I am very sorry for that."

Minerva's eyes flashed wide in shock at hearing an apology from a _Malfoy_.

Before she could respond, he shook his head, sighing. "Is it possible Peeves got into the student laundry?"

Shoulders drooping, McGonagall nodded, not certain if this _could_ be what happened, or if she simply wanted to _believe_ what he was getting at. "One can hardly control what that mischievous specter gets up to."

Draco shrugged, frowning thoughtfully as he held the elder witch's gaze the entire time. "Well," he said, clasping his hands before him, "isn't it possible Peeves was there when you caught Granger and me yesterday and just thought getting us into further trouble along _those_ sort of lines would be utterly hilarious?"

Minerva blinked rapidly a few times. Yes, she was certain she _wanted_ to believe his assertion more than she actually _did_ believe it.

Pursing her lips, she nodded. "Well, then . . . ." She cleared her throat as she picked up her quill and promptly turned her attention to some scrollwork open in front of her. "Do take your things back to your rooms and then be on your way to class."

"Yes, Professor," they said in unison.

Hurrying from their seats, they each grabbed their respective garments. Without looking up—or at one another, or anywhere but at their own hands as they moved—they stowed the items away in their bags and turned away, starting across the office.

"Oh, Miss Granger?" Professor McGonagall's voice stopped them as they opened the door.

"Yes, Professor?"

"You may want to dispose of those," she said, without looking up from her work. "It would seem _Peeves_ all but tore them to ribbons."

Hermione was utterly speechless, the blood draining from her face as Draco grabbed her elbow and pulled her from the office. They were so silent during the descent of the spiral lift, she could have sworn he was able to hear the wild thumping of her heart against her ribs.

* * *

As they walked down the corridor, sensation at last flooded back into her extremities. She halted mid-stride and turned to face Draco.

"That could have been worse, Granger," he said, before she could get out a single word.

"Worse?" She shook her head, scowling at him. "Worse _how_?"

Shrugging, he winked at her as he shoved his fists into the pockets of his robes and started walking again. "She could have _not_ pretended to believe us."

A shivering sigh escaped her as she fell into step beside him, her mind running through how excruciating that could have been just now, had Professor McGonagall decided to call their bluff.


	5. Fifth Revelation

**Chapter Five**

Fifth Revelation

" _Mated_?" Draco forced the word out from between clenched teeth—likely louder than he'd intended, and _certainly_ louder than Hermione could currently stand to hear—as he shot up from his chair in the library. "What the bloody hell do you _mean_ mated? Tell me that doesn't mean anything like marri—?"

His tirade was cut off as she bolted up from her own seat and slapped a hand over his lips.

Pale-grey eyes narrowing at her, he glowered behind her fingers. Shockingly, he found he wasn't as bothered as either of them expected he'd be by the notion of some mystical bond tethering them together— _especially_ if it meant their nighttime activities could continue—but this all sounded like a _bit_ heavier of a commitment than he'd anticipated.

Darting her gaze about the library, she saw Madame Pince glaring at them. Well, glaring at Draco, but Hermione was certainly in close enough proximity to him to feel the sting of the elder witch's piercing look.

Following the direction of Hermione's nod, he met Madame Pince's eyes. With a sigh—which nearly made the girl giggle at the way the forced breath caused his muffled lips to press against her skin more tightly—he shrugged, dropping back into his seat once Granger lowered her hand.

Offering the librarian a quick nod of apology, Hermione fell into her own chair and scooted it closer to the table. She leaned across the table, her golden-brown hair spilling over her shoulders. "Look, I'm not anymore pleased about the possibility than you are, but at the moment—until we know more about _whatever_ this is—we have to accept that this _could_ be true."

Frowning, Draco shook his head. He chewed on his bottom lip a long moment as he thought.

The sight caused Hermione to arch a brow, though she said nothing. She tried to ignore that it troubled her—wasn't that _her_ habit, not his?

"But," he finally said, meeting her gaze with wide, uncertain eyes. " _Is_ that what it means? I just don't . . . ." To his credit, she thought, he kept anything more than his genuine confusion over the matter masked. "What do we do if that's what it means? If we're the equivalent of marr—?"

"Please don't say it," Hermione said with a small shake of her head and a quiet laugh, cutting him off.

Being interrupted was one of the things that _usually_ got under Draco's skin, but given the subject matter, he was actually relieved she hadn't let him get the entire word out. That she was as unsettled about this as he was helped in that regard.

Nodding, he lowered his gaze to the texts before them. Nothing seemed to give them anything more about the creature's behaviors—other than the whole _pleasure-loving_ thing, which he dreaded was only likely get him into more trouble than he could manage on his own.

Drumming his fingers on the tabletop, he idly flipped to the book's title page. He arched a brow.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, unaware that she was leaning around the corner of the table, until her shoulder pressed to his.

They each jumped a little, their gazes locking.

Forcing a gulp down her throat— _dear_ God _, Hermione, don't let your eyes wander! Remember what happened_ last _time you got distracted by his lips mid-conversation!_ —she shifted back. Something flickered through his eyes just then, but it was gone before she could discern what it was. Disappointment, she thought, but then . . . .

No, no. It was utterly mad to think Draco Malfoy would be disappointed because she'd pulled away from him.

Draco schooled his features, directing her attention to the aged, embellished print toward the bottom of the page. "I was wondering, because we don't hear about satyrs, do we? Not in the current context that we do gnomes, or unicorns, or . . . _centaurs_. So I was wondering when this was published, since the accounts it gives seem _current_ , or at least recent."

Hermione couldn't pay any mind to the way his lip curled in disgust as he said the word _centaurs_ , not while her heart sank to her feet as she looked over the year. With Madame Pince's meticulous upkeep of the volumes in her care, it was no wonder the book didn't show its age. Of course, that she hadn't thought to check the publication date herself also stung.

"1908. Certainly squashes the option to owl the author for more information, doesn't it?"

She answered Draco's snarky-toned question with a withering look.

He smirked, unable to help the words that spilled out next. "I do enjoy that face you make when you're angry with me. Calls to mind _other_ faces I've caused you to make recently."

The venom drained from her features as she held his gaze. _Breathe, Hermione, breathe_. She pretended not to notice the feel of her skin warming under his scrutiny.

That smirk widened into a wicked grin and she gave a start at how the simple change in expression sent a delicious shiver through her. Honestly, she knew it should trouble her that they were each so relaxed about the things their connection had brought about between them, so far. Yet, she could only remind herself that what was done was done, and their best option—at the moment—was to accept their present _situation_ and move forward.

Clearing her throat, she forced her gaze from him as she shook her head. "Stop that," she said in a hissing whisper. "This is _not_ the time for anything that look would lead to."

Biting his lip to hold in a chuckle, he nodded. "Fine. So, what do we do? Now that your precious library has failed us."

Though she refused to look up at him, again—that was proving quite dangerous to their efforts to continue the discussion—her eyes narrowed lethally. "Oh, don't you _dare_ blame the library!"

Draco nodded again, more solemnly this time. He was, of course, ignoring the urge to placate her irritation. Making her temper flare he didn't mind, but irritating her seemed to bother him, somehow. Perhaps because the former could lead to _other_ things, while the latter would tempt her to ignore him?

They were _really_ going to have to get the hang of this mated-issue sooner rather than later.

"Well?"

"We just have to find someone who is familiar with magical creatures." As the words fell from her lips, her expression brightened and she finally graced him with her direct attention, once more. "Hagrid! He's made his life about magical creatures. He might know something about this, or at least know where we can go to find the information we need."

"Go to that oaf for useful information?" Draco sneered at the suggestion. "You _must_ be joking!"

Well aware of his disdain for Hagrid, she managed to keep her bristling on the groundskeeper's behalf tightly reined. "Well, I _would_ have suggested the centaurs—as they seem to know what's going on—but you appear to have some issue with them."

"Fine, Hagrid it is."

Hermione folded her arms beneath her breasts and leaned back in her chair, eyeing him with a sour expression.

Holding her gaze, he sat up straighter and squared his shoulders. "And I don't have any issue with those . . . bloody _horses_." His posture drooped. "Okay, yes, you're right; I don't like them."

She frowned. "They're _not_ horses! Anymore than you're a goat."

"Difference would be _I'm_ not part goat," he said, waving a hand toward himself in display.

"Oh?" Her eyebrows shot up and she grinned. "Why don't we wait 'til nightfall and finish this discussion, then?"

Draco scowled.

Hermione's shoulders slumped and she bent toward him, dropping her voice lower than the rest of their already-whispered conversation. "Is this about seeing me with Firenze last night?"

Instantly the Slytherin wizard's expression darkened. His chin tipped toward his chest in that lethal, predatory look she'd only even see from his nocturnal-self.

His displeasure at the mention tugged at her. She hated that she felt urged to soothe his ruffled feathers, but then she supposed their _unique_ relationship was to blame—just as it was to blame for Draco's recent possessive streak toward her.

Before she even realized she was moving, she'd reached across, placing her hand on his thigh. "Look, Firenze is my friend, nothing more. How could you even think there could be something?"

His brows drew upward in a silent question.

That was when it clicked—she never looked at the creature in question that way before, but she wasn't blind. "Because he's good-looking? You _can't_ be serious."

Draco remained silent, but his expression shifted to one of thoughtfulness. She supposed that was an improvement over quiet, too-angered-to-be-curious glowering.

"Besides . . . ." She shrugged, glancing about. "Anatomically speaking, he is _half_ -horse. I'm not even certain how that would work."

Finally, he felt prompted to respond. "Well, as you pointed out, I'm _occasionally_ part goat, and that doesn't seem to stop you."

Hermione stared at him, her expression blank for a moment. Until a smile curved his lips, and then she couldn't help a laugh.

"You're a git," she murmured, shaking her head.

"In this case, that seems like a redeeming quality."

"Maybe it's some instinctive thing," she said, her words a bit rushed.

He blinked a few times in rapid succession before tilting his head curiously. "I beg your pardon?"

Pursing her lips, she again shook her head. "Your issue with the centaurs. I mean, remember how yesterday you wanted to tear Neville's head off?"

He nodded and gave a half-shrug. _Certainly_ he remembered, he just never thought there would come a day when he'd have cause to feel jealous of Neville Longbottom.

"Like that only . . . more intense." She offered him a small smile. "But I bet we'll both feel better with some actual, concrete answers."

"Yes, yes." He sat forward and started closing the books on the table before them. "I already said okay to Hagrid. Just lead the way."

It was only as she watched him prepare to leave that she realized . . . her hand was still on his thigh. It had never even occurred to her to pull her arm back.

A blush flared in her cheeks and she bit her lip as she recoiled from him.

He mirrored her expression, a small chuckle rumbling out of him as he started packing the books away.

"What?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

Snatching her wrist, he brought her hand to his mouth, nipping at one of her fingertips.

She gasped, her eyes hazing a little as she looked back at him.

Relinquishing his hold, he murmured, "Nothing. I was just wondering when you were going to notice."

* * *

 _Running . . . . So much running. His muscles ached and his lungs burned and he was_ exhausted _. He didn't think he could make it another step._

 _Then he felt the breath on the back of his neck. That sensation of warm, ragged,_ damp _air across his skin forced him onward._

 _His vision blurred so that he couldn't even see where he was going anymore. He pushed on, desperate to keep moving, desperate to get away, even if it meant blindly stumbling through the trees._

 _He could hear more of them, now. The footfalls were louder, thumping the packed dirt and crunching over fallen leaves._

 _Something struck the back of his knee, tripping him up, and he pitched forward, hitting the forest floor hard. The footsteps grew louder and more numerous, still._

 _A chill ran up his spine as those sounds slowed . . . . As they moved to circle him._

 _Squeezing his eyes shut, he turned over. He didn't want to see their terrible faces again. Not those long, ugly features, with their blood-colored eyes and their jagged grins._

 _He could feel the press of them drawing closer around him. He threw his arms up to shield himself as their breath hissed over him._

* * *

Blaise shot up in his seat. Disoriented and gasping for breath, he looked about. No trees . . . no forest . . . no horrid-faced creatures with blood-red eyes. Just the Slytherin common room.

He felt the tension drained from him and his entire frame slumped.

A frown tugged the corners of Pansy's mouth downward as she looked up from the book open in her lap.

"What?" he asked, snapping the word without meaning to.

Arching a brow, she returned her attention to her book, her eyes rolling so hard the lids fluttered. In Draco's absence she supposed one of them _had_ to fill the void of dramatic flair.

"You look dreadful," she said, making the gesture careless as she handed him a tissue.

Taking the offering, he tipped his head to one side. "Um, what's—?"

"It's for your face." She glanced up at him for only a moment. Pansy shifted against sofa cushion, settling back. "You're sweating like some sort of animal."

Blaise nodded, unaware that he was in such a state. Blotting his forehead, he found his skin hot to the touch . . . and he seemed to _still_ be sweating from that horrid dream.

Last night, too, he'd dreamed the same thing. Fortunately, Draco slept like the dead these days, Blaise had to all but drag him out of bed the last two mornings.

No, something was wrong. "Not feeling too well, Pans. Think I'll see myself to the hospital."

Without waiting for any reply he pushed up from the armchair and took a step. His head swam and he halted, getting his bearings.

"Need help?" Pansy asked, tearing her attention from her reading to eye him cautiously.

Uncertain whether her look was out of concern for him, or concern that he might actually ask her to assist him, he carefully shook his head. "I'm sure I'll be fine," he said.

Forcing a not-terribly-convincing smile unto his lips, he ignored the sick, floating feeling in his head and made his way through the common room on measured footfalls.

* * *

Hermione thought, perhaps, she was becoming _too_ aware of Draco's presence at her side. As they walked down the corridor, she could simply _feel_ him next to her. Though there was no way for her to currently test the theory, she thought it quite likely she would be able to pick him out of a crowd with her eyes closed.

From the corner of her gaze, she kept glancing at him. As though she couldn't stop herself from looking over to catch glimpses of him as they continued on in silence—his profile here, the way his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he forced a gulp about whatever it was he was thinking there.

She wasn't entirely certain why they were so quiet. It was hardly as though they didn't have anything to talk about.

Although, as she listened to their footfalls in the vacant corridor, she considered there was probably a very good reason they weren't speaking. People having conversations tended to turn their heads toward one another, to look at each other as they talked. Looking at each other in their currently deserted surroundings was bound to turn out just as previous similar occasions had.

And yet, as she snuck a glance at his hand—his pretty, long-fingered hand— she wondered if her consciousness of him had something to do with _him_ , or with whatever strange thing Firenze had hinted at about _her_.

Her shoulders slumped and her eyes rolled as she remembered that she hadn't told him what Firenze had said. But then, his reaction to the very mention of the centaur's name had hardly invited discussion.

Again, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Draco, listen, I . . . ." Her words died off as she noticed he'd been looking at her, already.

Her breath caught in her throat and her cheeks warmed. She swallowed hard as she understood he'd been sneaking glances at her all this time, too.

His brows shot up and his steps slowed. "Granger?"

"Hmm?" she said, halting beside him.

A smirked curved his lips. There was no way for him _not_ to find it amusing how easily distracted she seemed by merely holding his gaze. But then, the thought of her being close with any other man made him see red, so he supposed there was some bizarre trade-off at work, there.

"I believe you were about to say something."

"Oh." Color darkened her cheeks and she cleared her throat as she turned to face him, fully. _Damn it, not_ this, _again!_ "Um, so last night, before you—" She cut herself off as she saw someone stumbling down the corridor over his shoulder.

"Oh, my God. Is that Blaise?"

Draco turned to follow her line of sight. Certainly, there his friend was, all but holding up the wall as he bumbled along.

Something twisted uncomfortably in his gut as he hurried over, Hermione trailing a step behind him. The other wizard looked like absolute hell.

"What on earth happened to you?"

Blaise shook his head stubbornly as Draco slipped his friend's arm around his shoulders and pulled him upright. "Not sure, mate. Just . . . trying to make my way to the hospital. No need to fuss."

"Men," Hermione hissed under her breath, her own head shaking as she moved to Blaise's other side, mimicking Draco's action. "Honestly, Zabini, you can barely take two steps. Are you intoxicated?"

"Not that I'm aware of. And I'm fine," Blaise said, a forced and brittle smile on his lips as he tried to push away from them.

Draco held firm as he steered them along the corridor. "Seriously, what's wrong with you?"

"Not the foggiest." Blaise finally gave up the fight. "Sort of why I'm going to the hospital."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the snark in his voice. Even in this state he was a prat, but then she supposed that was to be expected from Draco Malfoy's best friend.

Inhaling deeply through his nostrils, Blaise thought it odd that that scent of flowers from yesterday in the classroom had returned. Odder, still, that the scent seemed to come from Granger.

He was also pretty sure that if he was in his right state just now, he'd wonder what the bloody hell she and Draco had been doing, walking along together, just now. "Hey, Granger?"

"What is it, Zabini?" she said, barely refraining from groaning under half his weight.

Blaise knew it _had_ to be whatever was making him ill just now talking as he said, "Want to go with me next Hogsmeade weekend?"

It was all she could do to keep her legs moving beneath her as her eyes shot wide and her jaw dropped. Was he _serious?_ Although, she realized as she glanced at him, he probably didn't have it in him to joke, just now.

Draco ground his teeth, but kept quiet, afraid of what might spill out, were he to open his mouth. But then Granger answered, her words draining the sudden flare of anger from him.

"I'm—I'm flattered, but I'm sort of seeing someone."

Blaise uttered a drunk-sounding chuckle as he nodded. "Ah, too bad. Could've been fun."

Draco caught Hermione's gaze as Blaise's head lolled between them. _Sort of seeing someone?_ he repeated, mouthing the words.

Biting her lip, to hold in a laugh, she shrugged. _That_ did seem the best way to explain things at the moment.

He smirked, nodding as they reached the doors of the school hospital.


	6. Sixth Revelation

**Chapter Six**

Sixth Revelation

Hagrid opened the door to his modest little dwelling, a wide grin splitting his face—though his wild beard hid most of it—as he saw Hermione standing there. He missed the days when she, Harry, and Ron would pop up on his doorstep at all sorts of mad, unpredictable hours.

"Hello, Hermione!"

"Hi, Hagrid," she said with a smile. She hated that she hadn't had much time to spend with her friend this year. She also hated that it was so late in the evening, already, but Draco had insisted they stay with Blaise until he was settled with Madame Pomfrey. "I'm not disturbing you, am I?"

"No, o' course not. C'mon in." He stepped aside to allow her in, but she only stood there, shuffling her feet on the steps. Heavy brows shooting up, he said, "Somethin' wrong?"

"No, no . . . ." She darted her gaze about, nervous despite that she knew she'd probably have to tell him everything for him be able to give them any helpful information.

Well, _almost_ everything. She was sure there were _some_ details they could both do with her leaving out. "But, um . . . . We need your help."

"We?" Hagrid echoed the word before he opened the door wider and poked his head around.

Hermione winced expectantly as the groundskeeper's beady, dark eyes landed on Draco.

"Malfoy," he roared, shaking his head. "No. No. Sorry, Hermione, but wha'ever it is, _no_."

She stepped in the way of the door, staring up at the half-giant with a pleading expression. "Hagrid, please?"

The beady eyes narrowed.

Swallowing hard, she shook her head. "You know—you _know_ —I wouldn't bring _him_ to _your_ home if it wasn't important."

Hagrid was silent for the space of a few heartbeats. Then his massive shoulders slumped and he nodded. "A'right, fine."

The tension draining from her, Hermione smiled and nodded back as she slipped past Hagrid and into the hut.

Draco was no happier about being there than Hagrid was to have him there. Bowing his head a little, he marched to the door. Despite the sort-of invitation, he wasn't surprised when the groundskeeper stepped forward to block his progress.

Biting hard into his bottom lip to hold in a snarky comment—they were here for Hagrid's help, and they wouldn't get him to open up if Draco was his usual, _charming_ self—Draco halted in mid-stride and looked up. He kept his expression blank as he met the other man's gaze.

"I dunno wha' a sweet girl like Hermione is doin' with _you_ ," Hagrid said in an angry whisper, "but if you hurt her, mark my words, I'll make what Buckbeak did to you feel like a peck on the cheek."

Draco only bit down harder as he nodded. If this kept up, Granger would have to do all the talking.

Nodding back, Hagrid lumbered aside to allow Draco in.

Hermione waited, looking impossibly small seated in Hagrid's arm chair. Only after Draco and Hagrid both sat, as well, did she turn her gaze on her old friend.

She froze, the ridiculous-seeming words on the tip of her tongue. Concern creased what little was visible of Hagrid's face, then, and seeing him worry over her was enough to prompt the first question.

"What do you know about satyrs?"

Those heavy, bushy brows furrowed as Hagrid looked from Hermione to Draco, and back. "You two workin' on an assignment I dunno 'bout?"

"No, no." Hermione shook her head, smiling gently. "We just . . . we just need to know anything you can tell us."

Hagrid shrugged, resting a hand on his knee and rolling his eyes in thought. "Not much to tell. They're extinct."

"Extinct?" Draco couldn't stop himself from echoing the word. He counted it a win that there was no audible edge of disbelief lacing his tone.

Again, the half-giant shrugged. "Well, tha's wha's said. Truth is nobody's seen one in near half a cent'ry. But there were never very many of 'em to start." He nodded, stroking his shaggy beard as he continued. "Got so that when one of them appeared, he was . . . . I forget the word, bu' the other faerie creatures treated 'im like a god."

Hermione nodded, understanding that Firenze had meant that term the way she'd thought—and a bit concerned, too. The last thing she needed was Draco Malfoy developing a god-complex. "The Horned One."

"Aye." Hagrid sucked his teeth for noisy moment—Hermione tried not to laugh at the way the sound caused Draco's shoulders to bunch—before he went on. "Sorry there's not more I can tell you. But, if you're not skittish 'bout the Forest, you can always go ask the—"

"Hagrid, don't say it," Hermione pleaded, a moment too late.

"—Centaurs."

She winced as Draco shot to his feet. "No! No bloody _centaurs_! I told her, now I'm telling you!"

Hagrid looked too shocked by the sudden outburst to form a reply. Hermione knew, however, that once he gathered his wits, he'd be fuming over Draco's insulting attitude toward the creatures—which would appear only worse, given that Hagrid wouldn't understand why the Slytherin wizard felt that way.

She hopped out of the arm chair and crossed the tiny house to stand in front of Draco. "You _need_ to calm down," she said in an urgent whisper.

"I'm not going back into that forest so that your _friend_ Firenze can start pawing at you, again," Draco hissed back, grey eyes narrowed.

"He was not pawing at _anything_ , Draco!" She shook her head, aware, already, that insisting Firenze was only trying to steady her was a lost cause. "Just like Neville wasn't doing anything when you were ready to kill him, neither was Firenze!"

That was when she noticed it. At the mention of Neville's name, only a brief flicker of irritation crossed Draco's face. But . . . as Firenze's name fell from her lips, he squared his jaw and bared his teeth.

Her shoulders drooped as understanding dawned—at least about _this_. "It's something _about_ the centaurs, specifically, that's making you edgy."

"What?"

Forgetting where they were, she pressed a palm to his chest as she held his gaze. "Even before you saw me speaking to Firenze last night, the night before you were rather _displeased_ when you saw them outside the castle. Remember?"

Something in her touch eased the tension in him and he let out a breath as he nodded.

"No, no. Whateve's goin' on here, _no_." Hagrid's voice cut between them. Sooner than Hermione could blink, the half-giant had grabbed Draco by the shoulders, lifted him from the floor, and set him back down out of her reach.

Draco opened his mouth to rail at the much-larger man, but a stern look he caught from Hermione caused the words to die on his lips. To the shock of _both_ of them, if the look on her face was any indication.

"Hagrid, we're going through something very confusing right now. We really do need your help," she said, her voice low. "You're the most knowledgeable person about magical creatures we know."

She nodded her head side-to-side. "Okay, it's not even about the magical creatures, not _really_. It's about terms they use, like the Horned One."

Sighing, Hagrid shook his head. He could sense there was something going on that they weren't telling him. "Hermione, I already told you what I know 'bout that. I dunno wha' more I can tell you."

"Okay, okay." She slid across the floor, deliberately placing herself between Hagrid and Draco. Hagrid was starting to worry himself again, and she hated making him worry. "I understand, Hagrid. Please don't fret about that. Did you ever hear them talk about The Lady?"

He broke into a grin immediately, happy that he had a ready answer for that. "Oh, sure. The Lady of the Wood."

She glanced over her shoulder, exchanging a look with Draco. "Lady of the Wood," she repeated, shaking her head and ignoring the odd, familiar ring the term had. "Is that a forest spirit?"

"No . . . ." Hagrid squinted in thought, and then nodded. "Yes. It's their name for Mother Nature. The Lady's one of the names for their goddess."

Hermione's eyebrows drew upward and a little of the sensation drained from her legs. Despite their present company, she found herself leaning back against Draco for support.

It made sense, now. Sort of. She _had_ heard of the Horned One . . . and of a Mother-Goddess figure. Muggle history texts were lousy with stories of ancient, nature worshiping religions being persecuted for believing in such deities.

"The triple-goddess . . . and her _consort_ , often referred to as the Horned One," she said, the words slipping out in a breathless whisper.

Draco gently pushed her forward to stand on her own two feet. "Consort? If they think you're their Lady, then it makes sense." He hated having to repeat anything her _friend_ Firenze had said, but it fit. "That centaur said _you_ had chosen _me_."

Again, she looked over her shoulder, this time holding his gaze as she spoke, "I chose you? How? And . . . even if that's so, why is it _me_?"

Hermione turned her gaze back to Hagrid to find the half-giant had folded his massive arms across his chest. His attention was shifting from her to Draco, and back. There was an unhappy crease lodged between his brows.

She didn't know what he was more upset about, that she had some secret with Draco Malfoy, or that she wasn't being wholly forthcoming with him. Her frame slumped as she stared up at him. He was such a good friend, she hated being the cause of him making that expression.

"Hagrid, I really want to tell you why we're asking all this, but you won't believe us."

His bushy brows shot up and he gingerly clamped one of his beefy hands on her arm. "After everythin' I've seen at Hogwarts, you think there's anythin' I'll have trouble believin'?"

Biting her lip, she shuffled her feet against the grainy floor. "I know, but I still think this might be a bit—"

"He would believe us if he saw it."

Draco's words caught Hermione by surprise, and she spun to face him before she even realized she'd moved. He wasn't looking at her, or even at Hagrid. His gaze was fixed out the window.

Her heart thumped in her chest as she only watched him for a moment before speaking. "Are you sure?"

He forced a gulp down his throat as he nodded.

She knew he hadn't wanted anyone else to see him in that form; that he was willing to let Hagrid see . . . . Smiling, she reached out, placing a hand over his. "Thank you for trusting him."

Hagrid threw his hands up in the air. "Are ya goin' to tell me already?"

Hermione glanced out the window, confirming what Draco had been looking for. The sun had fully set, now, leaving the sky pitch-dark. Draco's transformation was probably about an hour or two away.

"Draco's a satyr."

"Codswallop," Hagrid muttered the word, his eyes wide and his spine straightening.

She nodded. "We don't know what's making it happen, but the past two nights, he's just . . . _changed_."

Hagrid backed up, falling blindly into his armchair with a thud. "I'm no' sure I understand how that could happen."

"And that's why we're going to wait here for a little while longer, so you can see for yourself." Hermione glanced from Draco, still watching the horizon though the small house's window, to Hagrid, who looked positively dumbstruck.

"I think I'll make tea," she said, nodding to no one, and intent on busying herself somehow for the next hour, or so.

* * *

She and Hagrid sipped their tea—and she tried to nibble at a muffin from a batch the half-giant had baked earlier that day—Draco barely acknowledged the mug she'd placed near him. His gaze only flicked away from the star-speckled sky every so often. She knew he was looking to the Forest, looking for any sign of the centaurs.

She hoped they would keep their distance until Draco was finally ready to accept that the centaurs were probably the only ones who could tell the pair what was happening to them.

Hagrid talked about how Grawp was doing, and the time he'd gotten to spend with his little brother over the summer. Hermione filled him in on Harry's Auror training with a smile on her face, and the Weasleys, though she mostly left Ron's name out of the conversation.

The omission had not escaped Hagrid's notice, but he left it alone.

They were caught up in their conversation, only realizing the time had passed when Draco let out a pained groan. Hermione and Hagrid turned in time to see him fall to his knees.

She ignored the sensation of her heart dropping into her stomach as she hurried to his side. Draco tried to wave her away as he curled into a ball, but she ignored that, too.

Uncertain what to do, she pressed her hands lightly to his back. He shuddered beneath her touch, but didn't try to shoo her away, this time.

His hair grew out, slipping over his shoulders to sweep the floor. She could see over the top of his head as his horns began curving back and extending.

The tremors wracking him stopped and he all but collapsed under her hands.

"Draco?" she said in a shaky whisper. She'd never expected to _see_ his transformation.

There was a strained silence throughout Hagrid's house before he responded. "I'm okay, Granger," he murmured breathlessly as he shifted back up to sit on his knees.

Pulling his arm around her shoulder, she helped him to stand. They turned as one to face Hagrid.

The large man sat, staring back at them, eyes wide and his skin ashen. "Codswallop," he said, again, his voice barely audible.

"We haven't told anyone else, because we don't know anything about why this is happening to him, so we're not sure who's safe to tell." Hermione explained.

A bit of color returned to Hagrid's face as he smiled. "You _do_ trust me, then?"

"Oh, Hagrid," she said, so happy to have his understanding her eyes watered. How could he _ever_ think she didn't trust him? "Of _course_ I do."

"I'll . . . ." He gave a side-to-side nod of his shaggy head. "I'll see if I can find out anythin' more for you. Never thought I'd be doin' a favor for a Malfoy, though."

Draco laughed, a tired smile curving his lips, despite that he felt his strength returning, already. "That makes two of us."

* * *

"I'm glad you and Hagrid were able to get along."

Draco shook his head, glancing sideways at her as they sneaked back toward the castle. "Think I'm more surprised about that than the two of you."

She laughed and shook her head. The conversation with Hagrid was nice, it kept her from wondering over the whole Lady of the Wood issue. Was she supposed to be some sort of priestess? A representative? Some sort of avatar? Certainly, she could always go to Firenze and ask directly, but she didn't want to picture Draco's meltdown if she suggested that option.

At the moment, however, she was trying her very best not to acknowledge that she could feel Draco's presence beside her. His closeness tingled along her skin, like little, jetting sparks of warmth.

Every few moments as they walked the side of his hand brushed hers, and it was all she could do not to tangle her fingers with his.

"You are being awfully quiet, you know," he said, jarring her from her thoughts—or non-thoughts, as the case was.

"Sorry."

"'S okay," he said, chuckling under his breath. "I get it. Really. I'm trying to pretend you're not there, either."

She halted as they reached the castle. "Thanks for that."

He turned his head, giving her a playfully sour look before he slipped inside. Only when she followed, and they started making their way down the corridor toward the center of the main floor, did he go on.

"You know what I mean. Only way I can think about anything else."

"Really?"

Biting his lip, he nodded.

Hermione knew that in a few more meters, they'd be parting ways. He'd be disappearing into the Slytherin dungeons to find a place to hide out until he changed back, and she'd be ascending the steps toward Gryffindor tower. There was a little, unpleasant thrum through her at the notion.

"I was thinking we should do an experiment," she said after a moment of walking in silence.

"Oh, really?" He laughed as he turned his head to glance at her. "I had no idea you're so adventurous."

Giggling in spite of herself, she slapped his shoulder. "Stop that. I mean with these . . . nightly meetings we've been having. The last two nights have turned out pretty much the same. I was wondering . . . maybe we should try to avoid seeing each other the next few nights to see what happens."

They stepped out of the corridor and he pivoted on his heel to face her. " _Avoid_ what we've been doing at night lately? That sounds like utter madness."

Her jaw fell open as her shoulders slumped. "Please don't be cute right now, you're really not helping."

"Sorry." He cleared his throat and tried to be serious, for her sake. "Explain to me the purpose of said experiment."

"To see how much of this is _us_ , and how much of it is on account of what we are . . . ." She gave herself a once-over and shrugged. "Whatever it is I am."

Silence fell between them again. She became acutely aware of the weight of Draco's gaze. It traced her lips and dipped lower, skimming along her throat. Warmth flooded her cheeks and she swallowed hard.

"So, this . . . experiment," he said, a tinge of color touching his fair skin.

"Would we be starting that tonight, or . . . ?"

She found herself stepping closer to him as she shook her head. His arms were already circling her as she leaned into him.

"Tomorrow night's good for me," she said in a whisper, barely getting the last word out before his mouth was on hers.


	7. Seventh Revelation

**Chapter Seven**

Seventh Revelation

Hermione stretched, too comfortable where she was to really want to move, much. But then she felt arms tighten around her and she forced her bleary eyes open.

She found that she was laying atop a sleeping Draco on one of the plush, dark green sofas in the Slytherin common room. Brow furrowing, she glanced about. It was difficult to discern what time it was in the posh dungeons beneath the Black Lake, but she had a feeling it was early morning.

With any luck, they'd still have time enough to each sneak back to their dorm rooms.

She utterly ignored the giddy, fluttering warmth that curled through her as she realized she and Draco had slept in each other's arms.

Bracing her palms on his chest, she lifted herself up. "Draco," she said in an urgent whisper. "Draco? Wake up."

He mumbled something unintelligible and tightened his arms around her waist. Turning in his sleep, he pulled her with him.

What woke him, then, was the surprised squeak Hermione forced out as the maneuver wedged her between his body and the sofa cushions. Making a drowsy rumbling sound in the back of his throat, he opened his eyes, meeting her gaze.

"Morning, Granger," he said, smirking at how disheveled she looked with her wild, golden-brown hair in greater disarray than usual. "Funny, I don't recall us falling asleep."

Biting hard into her bottom lip, she narrowed her eyes in a scathing glare. Given their predicament, she couldn't bring herself to worry just now that she hadn't recalled falling asleep, or even making their way from the arm chair on the other side of the room—where they'd made the most of the night before their _experiment_ was to begin, to phrase the activity delicately.

He chuckled as he rolled onto his back, once more. "Sorry," he whispered. Sparing a moment to look around the silent common room, he asked, "What time do you think it is?"

"Time enough for us to not get caught here, if we're lucky," she said as she sat up.

"Pity," he murmured, reaching up to stroke the tips of his fingers along her throat and over her collar bone. Her unbuttoned uniform blouse hung open, and the satin cups of her bra were pulled down to bunch beneath her breasts, baring them to his gaze. "Because this is _really_ a sight I could stand to witness for a bit longer."

She grinned in spite of herself, but playfully slapped his hand away. There wasn't time for her to admire that he was in a similar state of undress; if she even entertained the notion, they'd risk that the entirety of Slytherin House might catch them shagging on the sofa.

Shifting to slip off him, she noticed something felt _odd._

Standing, she met his gaze, again, as she righted her bra and began buttoning her blouse. "Draco, where are my knickers?"

He held up his other hand, displaying the bit of black lace and satin looped almost artfully around his fingers. "Whoops," he said after a moment, shrugging.

Frowning, she snatched them from his hand. Before she could step into them, however, they both heard the distinct creak of a door opening from the corridors that branched off the common room, followed by another, and another.

She felt her heart drop into her stomach as she glanced frantically from him, toward the corridors, and back. He held her gaze with wide eyes before the echo of footfalls reached his ears.

"Shit," he muttered from between clenched teeth.

Shooting to his feet, he latched a hand around her wrist. There wasn't time to reach the stairs to the main floor, and even if they did, they'd no doubt encounter other students— _and_ some faculty—looking as they did, now.

He glanced over his shoulder, mouthing the word, "C'mon."

Nodding numbly, Hermione was right on his heels as they darted across the common room. Between two enormous trophy cabinets, a large, decorative curtain hung. He lifted the side of the dark, tasseled velvet and relinquished his hold on her arm to make an _after you_ gesture.

Despite her chagrin at the hiding spot, she ducked beneath the curtain. She slid as far along the wall as she dared, making space for him beside her.

Long, painfully stretched minutes passed as they listened to snippets of conversation, laughs, footfalls, even some falling from students pushing each other about. Even in the darkness of their hiding spot, Draco could feel Hermione's irritated glare over the in-House bullying.

He shrugged, leaning to whisper in her ear, "First years finding their place in the pecking order, is all."

Inhaling sharply through her nostrils—the way the curtain was suspended from the wall left _just_ enough room that the space was stuffy, but breathable—she turned her head to look in his direction, despite that she could barely make out his silhouette against the even-darker black of the wall behind them.

She opened her mouth to respond, but he slipped his arm around her neck to clamp his hand over her lips, silencing her. _Fantastic,_ she thought with a roll of her eyes. Having the sides of their bodies pressed to each other was _not_ very helpful, just now.

"Now, now, Granger," he said, his voice so low she barely heard him, but she could tell by his tone that he was smirking, even as he let his hand fall away. "We mustn't speak loudly—which _you_ will if you get angry—or we'll get caught like this."

Holding in an unhappy groan, she shook her head. "I can _be_ quiet, Draco."

"Is that a challenge?"

Brow furrowing, she once more turned her head to look at him. Before she could ask what he meant, she felt the tips of his fingers skimming along her thigh, easing the hem of her skirt upward.

Biting her lip to hold in a gasp, she shook her head. "You wouldn't _dare_ ," she said in a scandalized whisper.

He murmured a chuckle as he lifted her skirt higher, still. "Honestly, Granger. Have you learned _nothing_ over the last few days?"

Hermione . . . found herself at an impasse at that moment. She both wanted him to stop, _and_ wanted him to go on. But she knew if she said nothing at all, he'd make the decision for her, either way, and that was _not_ going to happen.

She latched her hand around his wrist, halting his progress, even as she leaned a bit more into his side.

His eyebrows rose. "If you wanted me to stop, you could have simply said so."

"Draco, you idiot," she whispered, finding it her turn to smirk now, as she guided his hand a little higher. "I don't want you to stop, but that doesn't mean I don't want you to seek my permission."

Nodding, he sank his fingers between her thighs at her urging. He felt rewarded by the way her head fell against his shoulder as a hushed rumbling sound worked its way out of her throat. "Fair enough."

As she shifted, parting her legs a bit more for his stroking hand, she noticed . . . . "Draco, wait."

Not that he didn't adore hearing her speak his name in that breathy whisper, but this was getting a bit ridiculous. "Dear God, woman, you're _going_ to kill me," he said as he stilled his motions.

She laughed as she shook her head. "No, no. Listen."

He paused a moment, straining to hear whatever she was referring to, but the effort wasn't necessary. The common room had fallen silent. Either everyone had finally made their way up to the Great Hall for breakfast, or they were about to push aside the curtain to find they'd been louder than they realized and gained an audience.

He felt it as she slid her arm in front of him to pull the curtain aside and find out which it was. A sudden thought caused him to wind his arm around hers, stopping her.

Whichever was the case, _he_ wouldn't get in trouble for being down here so early in the morning, but _she_ would. He could always browbeat anyone standing on the other side into _not_ checking who it was sharing the hiding space with him.

He scowled at himself even as he said, "Let me." Honestly, this concern for someone else over such a simple thing was a bit grating.

Saving her life? Sure. But saving her reputation? _Who_ was he turning into?

Swallowing around the sensation of his heart lodging in his throat, he pushed the curtain aside and poked his head out. He held in a sigh of relief as he stepped from their hiding spot.

"All clear."

Hermione felt the tension drain out of her so fast she had to lean against the wall a moment to keep her legs from going out from under her. It was odd, she realized, as she breathed deeply before pushing away from the wall. Despite the anxiety of the last few seconds, she was still a little wound up from Draco's antics.

Actually, more so, she thought, all too aware of a sweet little ache between her thighs as she moved to stand beside him.

"Should we wait a few more minutes to make sure everyone's at breakfast?"

Without answering, she started to cross the room, reaching back and lacing her fingers blindly through his to tug him along behind her. "Which way is your room?"

Draco's jaw dropped and he halted mid-stride without realizing. "You're serious? You want to go to my room to—?"

The look she cast him over her shoulder silenced him before he could finish the question.

Clearing his throat, he nodded. "Okay, well," he said as he stepped around her to take the lead, "this way, then."

Hermione bit back a giddy laugh as she trailed behind him. "Oh, wait!"

He let out a groan as he turned back to face her. "I wasn't joking. You're _going_ to be the death of me at this rate."

She shrugged, blushing as she darted her gaze about. It wasn't that she didn't want to go, but . . . . "After how long we . . . well, how long we were at it last night, I have the feeling that if we get into a room with a bed, we might end up missing today's classes. Like, _all_ of them."

Tipping his head to one side, he slipped his arm around her and pulled her tight against him. A half smile curved his mouth at the way she gasped when he slipped his hand beneath her skirt to cup her bare bum. She must've forgotten—though _he_ was all too aware—that she'd never gotten a chance to put her knickers on, still clutching them in her free hand, even as they stood there.

"Granger," he said, dipping his head to scrape his teeth against her bottom lip before he continued. "If there are any two students in this school who can afford to miss a day's lessons, it's us."

She let out a little moan as she pressed herself more firmly to him—there was something so delightful about how the sounds she made set off a wash of color in his cheeks. Her gaze drifted from his to trace his mouth. "I sort of hate it when you're right."

He arched a brow as he nodded. "But I am right?"

She shook her head, her green-speckled brown eyes narrowing at the triumphant tone in his voice. "You are. Lead on."

* * *

 _He pressed forward, his legs burning as he ran faster. He didn't know how he avoided crashing face-first into the trees that whizzed past him as he moved; he simply_ did.

 _They were behind him . . . he could hear them. He could_ feel _them._

 _Their terrible, crimson faces were an image in the back of his mind more than a solid reality. He refused to even glance over his shoulder at them, refused to confirm his mental picture of the creatures. He simply_ knew _._

 _The same way he simply knew there was blood dripping from their sharp, gnashing teeth._

* * *

Ginny nodded a greeting to Madame Pomfrey behind the front desk of the school hospital as she dropped off her bag. "Where do you need me?"

Medicinal Magic had been the last area anyone thought would draw the youngest Weasley's attention. However, after the War, after seeing so many injured, so very many who'd needed aid that even the resident Medi-Witch's best efforts were barely enough, she couldn't think of anything more worthy of her time.

Professor McGonagall had agreed to let her volunteer during morning classes, which she had free, to accumulate hands-on experience prior to graduation. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to do most mornings aside from tidying up.

Madame Pomfrey nodded toward the lone, occupied bed. "You can check on Mr. Zabini."

"Blaise?" Ginny glanced from the Medi-witch to the patient, and back. One of Draco Malfoy's cronies. _Joy_. "What's wrong with him?"

Poppy arched a brow, but grinned warmly at Ginny's concern. Eventually the girl would remember to use the professional terminology she was studying.

"Medically, nothing. It is likely anxiety-related. He is complaining of nausea, sweats, and nightmares, but my examination of him showed nothing, _physically_ , amiss. The elves brought him some breakfast this morning, but he was sleeping soundly and I did not wish to disturb him." She gestured with a wave of her hand to the table nearest Blaise's bed. "The tray is still there. Wake him— _gently_ —and advise him to eat something."

Forcing a smile onto her face, Ginny nodded. She turned on her heel and made a reluctant bee-line for Blaise's bed.

Despite her misgivings, the closer she got to him, the more she actually found herself becoming concerned. He was twitching in his sleep, his dark cheeks were ashen, and she could see the sweat beading his forehead.

Sighing, she shook her head and pulled a nearby stool up beside the bed to sit. She placed a delicate hand on his shoulder to wake him, but pulled back again, just as quickly.

* * *

 _Just as he thought he couldn't make it another step—his lungs were ready to burst and his muscles screamed with every motion—he broke through the tree line to find himself in a clearing._

* * *

Wincing, she once more gave her head a shake. Odd, at that touch, she could _swear_ a jumble of disjointed images whirled past her mind's eye. Too fast to make sense of it, so she pushed it aside. Her imagination, was all.

Nightmares were _not_ contagious.

Yet, as she returned her attention to Blaise, she found that his trembling had subsided, and some of the color had returned to his face. Brow furrowing, she touched his shoulder, again.

"Blaise?"

* * *

 _As the creatures trailing him burst into the clearing behind him, he heard their footfalls slow. He slowed to a jog in response._

 _Then they stopped, altogether. He slowed further, still. After a few more quick steps, he heard nothing at all behind him._

 _Halting, finally, he turned to face them as he caught his breath. Their faces were, indeed, as terrible as he'd imagined, but he found he could not fear them anymore. Not as they backpedaled and lowered to one knee before him._

" _I don't understand," he said, pausing a moment to force a gulp down his throat. "What is it you want with me?"_

 _The one closest to him raised his crimson-skinned hand, pointing a single, clawed finger beyond where Blaise stood._

 _Ignoring the sudden chill down his spine, Blaise turned to follow the gesture. In the center of the clearing he saw something he'd not noticed when he'd entered._

 _Frowning, he approached the elaborately carved wooden throne, his footsteps cautious. Did they expect him to sit down? Was he a meal for some invisible beast, seated there, already?_

* * *

"Blaise?"

* * *

 _The closer he drew to it, the less trepidation he felt. He found himself standing straighter, his shoulders squared, and his head held high._

* * *

"Blaise?"

* * *

 _He reached out to touch the arm of it. Just as his fingers brushed the wood—_

* * *

"Blaise, c'mon. Wake up."

His eyes snapped open to the odd sight of Ginny Weasley leaning over him.

"Finally," she said with a sigh, smiling as she sat back. "You were actually beginning to worry me."

After a moment of darting his gaze about, he got his bearings—Madame Pomfrey had mentioned a student volunteer might check on him. "Right." He uttered a quick, hoarse chuckle. "The day a Weasley worries over _any_ Slytherin student . . . ."

She shook her finger at him, trying to maintain a light tone. "Now, Zabini, any proper Medi-Witch treats _all_ her patients with the same care and compassion, regardless of said patient's personal shortcomings."

He frowned at the insult that finished out her otherwise innocuous statement.

"Madame Pomfrey said you should eat something," she continued as she stood to cross to the table.

She couldn't help but glance over her shoulder at him as she removed the cover from the tray and gripped its sides. He looked like normal, if slightly-pale, Blaise Zabini, and yet, for reasons she couldn't name . . . .

When he'd first opened his eyes, she'd expected the whole of them to be a rich, velvety black. So dark, she'd see herself reflected in their inky depths.


	8. Eighth Revelation

**Chapter Eight**

Eighth Revelation

The sound of Draco shutting the door was a distant echo in Hermione's ears. She was too busy looking about as she crossed the floor to stand in the center of the room, uncertain which bed was his—though, with everything happening to, and between, them, she believed if she let herself guess, she'd instinctively choose correctly.

 _Suppose only one_ would _have a saturation of satyr-pheromones, or whatever the faerie creature equivalent of pheromones is._ Her inner-voice was a touch cheekier than usual as it whispered this, she realized. There it was again, she thought, that strange part of her that found the smallest things so wildly amusing.

"Something wrong?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "You know, now that I'm here, I think I probably always wondered what the Slytherin dormitories looked like."

He stepped up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist in a loose hug as he leaned to rest his chin on her shoulder. "And? Is it very different from Gryffindor?"

She turned her face, so that her lips brushed his cheek as she answered, "Only the colors of the curtains and bedclothes. Otherwise, the décor is pretty much the same."

Draco bit his lip, a playful gleam in his eyes as he nodded. "So, then, disappointed by our accommodations, are you?"

That little voice whispered a terribly bold response. But then that new boldness seemed to go hand-in-hand with her sudden bouts of humorous whimsy.

She skimmed the very edge of her teeth along the line of his jaw, and then murmured, "I'll only be disappointed if we don't put said accommodations to good use."

Grinning, Draco turned her in his arms. Walking her backward, he said, "You know, I really think this whole faerie creature mess has been a _fantastic_ influence on you, Granger."

Hermione couldn't help but giggle when she fell into a sitting position on the bed he'd guided her to and dropped backward onto it—indeed, the _very_ same bed she'd thought was his.

"Oh, no, no." He smirked as he caught her wrists and pulled her to sit upright, once more.

She arched a brow as she opened her mouth to ask, but her voice died on her lips as he offered her a wicked look in preemptive response.

Removing her blouse, he tossed it aside. Draco lowered to his knees as he reached around her to unclasp her bra and pull it from her.

"Why, Malfoy," she said, her voice a hint breathy as he started tugging her skirt down her legs, "if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to get me naked."

"Well, to be fair, Granger . . . ." He snatched her balled up knickers from her hand and dropped them atop her discarded skirt. "Over the last three nights, I'm pretty sure I've seen _all_ your parts, just not all at the same time."

Still feeling that giddy blend of mischief and boldness, Hermione bit her lip as she lay back, stretching her arms over her head and holding his gaze. "And, what _does_ my satyr think?"

His breath caught at her words as much as they did at the sight of her before him like that. There was simply something about her calling him _hers_. . . .

Draco smirked, pushing any more profound thoughts on the matter away. He leaned over her, resting his weight on his palms on either side of her, one eyebrow flicking upward as he said, "I'm thinking this whole mated business might not be so terribly tragic, after all."

Her jaw dropped as she made a scandalized sound. "You thought it terribly tragic, did you?"

He shrugged, lowering his mouth to hers. But he pulled back just as quickly, unable to help a noise that was part shocked laugh, part gasp, at the feel of her giving his nipples _clearly_ mean-spirited pinches.

"You are becoming a right little terror, you know that?"

"Yes, well," she said with a smug grin, pinching again, "can hardly help that when I'm the source of your _terrible_ tragedy, now can I?"

"Suppose I'll just have to learn to live with it, somehow." He lowered again, sighing into her mouth before he kissed her.

Hermione made a little moaning sound in the back of her throat as she kissed him back. Her tongue darting between his lips, she dragged the tips of her fingers down his bare, leanly-lined abdomen, to the tops of his trousers.

He shifted only a little, nipping playfully at her caressing tongue as he braced his knees on the bed to open his trousers and start pushing them down his legs. It thrilled him that she was _so_ eager to help, her fingers scrabbling to tug the offending garment down over his knees as he lifted them, in turn, assisting her efforts.

She felt him gasp against her mouth as she circled him with tentative fingers. Breaking the kiss, she opened her eyes, meeting his gaze as she worked her hand over him.

He could only stare back at her, his mouth hanging open as a shuddering breath escaped.

A hint of her fear at doing anything incorrectly crept in, just then. Biting her lip for a moment as she watched his expression, she forced herself to ask, "Is that okay? Am—am I doing this right?" Honestly, they'd pretty much gotten straight into _things_ before, so foreplay was something of a new element.

He let out a breathy chuckle, kissing her quick before nodding. "Certainly feels right."

Following her lead, he balanced his weight on one elbow, holding her gaze as he dragged a hand down her body. She shivered under his touch as his fingertips slipped down, teasing her breasts before moving lower. Over her abdomen and down her stomach before dipping between her thighs.

Hermione bit her lip, holding in a delighted breath at the way his fingers rubbed and stroked.

"Am I doing _this_ right?"

She smirked, as much for his attempt to level the playing field, as it was for the mischievous gleam in his eyes—which she would wager matched her own. "Certainly feels right," she echoed.

He lowered his mouth to the side of her throat, lapping and nibbling at her skin. He could feel her sigh against him, noticing as she parted her legs. Draco took the opportunity, trailing his stroking fingers to sink into her.

Her own fingers tightened around him in response, her pace quickening as she gasped. She arched her back, pressing herself closer to him as she murmured, "Draco Malfoy, you dreadful tease!"

Lifting himself enough to meet her gaze again, he granted her one of his beautifully wicked grins, moving his hand more sharply. "Funny, from your reaction, I'd say I'm a pretty good tease."

Hermione held in a tiny growl-like sound at that, but she supposed she'd walked right into that one.

Frowning thoughtfully, she shifted beneath him. She raised her legs around him. Giving him a pleading look, she maneuvered her hips, angling him to enter her . . . well, were his hand not in the way.

The expression in those big, green-dusted chestnut eyes undid him. He didn't want to give in so soon—having her at his mercy was so very, very fun—but he recognized what she was doing.

Hermione Granger was giving him a clear signal that even if she as the one _under_ , she was still very much in charge. He simply wasn't certain if he wanted her to dictate terms, just now.

There was some shift in her gaze, he couldn't help but notice. He thought perhaps she'd picked up on his stubbornness, because she lifted her free hand, then, curling it around the back of his neck to rake through the ends of his hair.

"Please don't fight me, Malfoy," she said in a breathy whisper, a corner of her mouth curving in a half-grin.

Nearly before he realized, he was withdrawing his hand. Bracing that arm on the other side of her, he couldn't help a chuckle at her simple—but _oh,_ so effective— manipulation. "Wicked woman."

"Maybe." She guided him, once more, shivering sweetly as he pushed his hips, entering her. "But I'm _your_ wicked woman, aren't I?"

"That you are," he said, his breath rushing out in a sigh at the feel of her clenching around him.

Hermione let her head roll back against the bed as he withdrew and sank into her again and again. She let her hands wander over him as she moved against him, rocking her hips to meet his strokes.

He trailed a line of kisses down her throat and along her collarbone. Dipping his head lower, he closed his mouth around her nipple, suckling and scraping his teeth ever so gently.

Her touch was delicate and teasing as she drew her fingertips along his skin. She explored everywhere she could reach—his back and shoulders beneath his unbuttoned shirt, his legs, around to the backs of his thighs and trailing higher.

His mouth unlatched from her breast to let out a surprised chuckle.

"What?" she asked, her voice barely audible between gasping breaths— thought really, were she thinking clearly, she'd probably realize that if any two people were going to have a conversation during sex, it _would_ be her and Malfoy.

"Nothing, just . . . ." He smiled even as he let his words trail off, dropping his head down against her shoulder as he concentrated on his thrusts, moving into her harder and faster.

Hermione's limbs tightened around him and her hips stilled, a whimpering moan sounding in the back of her throat.

"I just don't think a girl's ever touched my bum, before."

She uttered a giggle at that, thinking back even as her body tensed around his. Huh, it was true—even after these last three nights, she never had, neither had _Pansy_ , apparently, or he wouldn't be so surprised by it.

"Well, that's a shame, as you've got such a nice one," she said just before she lifted her head to bite at his throat, her nails digging into his shoulders as he pushed her over the edge.

He groaned, holding her to him, trying to keep himself going as she clenched tighter around him, still. It was hard to hold out, knowing that he was making her come.

Draco didn't know quite how—with her moaning and writhing around him— but he managed, at least until her orgasm ebbed. The tension drained from her limbs and she started moving around him, grinding her hips against his thrusts, inviting him to let go, now.

With a grin that was just a bit feral, he held her to him and rolled, landing himself on his back with her straddling him.

Hermione let out a breath, startled by the sudden change in position, but nodded. "Okay, then," she said, bracing her palms on his chest and rocking harder against him.

" _God_ , Granger," he said, his voice low and tight as he pushed up into her.

"God _dess_ , but thank you," she joked, watching his face as she moved over him.

He bit his lip hard, and his eyelids had drifted down, shielding those pretty, silver-grey eyes. His expression pinched and his mouth dropped open as he drove up into her in that last, sharp thrust and stilled.

She found she couldn't help herself as she curled forward over him, covering his face in quick, sweet kisses as she rocked her pelvis, guiding him through his orgasm. She slowed as his body relaxed, stopping only when he lowered his hips back to the bed, only when she knew he had spent himself, entirely.

Hermione rolled off him, falling on her back next to him as they caught their breath.

"Really?" she said, her voice no more than an airy whisper. "No girl has _ever_ touched your bum?"

Draco shrugged as he rethought that bit. "Well . . . from your tone, I'm guessing you can't say the same for boys and _your_ bum."

She laughed. "Well, Viktor and I didn't get very far, but for what little we _did_ do, he was a bit on the handsy-side."

"I think there's a different standard for girls' bums and boys' bums, anyway. It's just less common for ours to be groped, I suppose."

She turned her head, her gaze tracing his profile. "That is _so_ sexist."

"Doesn't make it any less true."

Hermione sighed, her brow furrowing. "God, I hate it when you're right. Well, if it evens things out at all, know that I aim to touch your bum whenever I damned well please."

He chuckled as he turned his head to look at her. "Okay, then," he said, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. "I'm not sure if you want me to complain about that declaration, or tell you that you're perfectly welcome to touch _any_ part of me any time you like."

She smirked, nodding. "The second one."

He nodded back, grinning.

With a sigh, she pulled herself to sit up and stretched. She leaned back into his touch, trembling just a little, as he stroked his fingers along either side of her spine. Dear _God_ , that felt so good!

"Granger," he said, a hint of concern edging his voice. "There's something on your back!"

Snapping her head over her shoulder to look down at him, she asked, "What do you mean?"

"There are _lines_ on your back, go look." He all but jumped up from the bed, grabbing her by the shoulders. Pulling her to her feet, he guided her to stand before the mirror above the bureau.

Hermione thought for certain she would have made much more of a fuss about wandering Draco Malfoy's room naked, even after having just shagged him on his bed, if not for the serious look on his face. He spun her and then nodded toward her reflection.

"Go on," he said, meeting her gaze a moment.

Biting her lip, she turned her head slow, unsure she wanted to see what he was talking about if he was making a worried expression. But then she saw them . . . along either side of her spine, curving her shoulder blades and extending out toward her back of her hips.

The graceful lines sparked and glittered in fluctuating hues of pale purple and deep, reddish-pink. They were _beautiful_ , but . . . .

"What the _bloody hell_ is this?"

Draco ran his hands up and down her arms in comforting strokes as he said, "I'd say it's probably got to do with the green flecks in your eyes, and the way you smell like flowers . . . and, well, me sprouting horns at night."

"Okay, then, okay," she whispered in a self-soothing murmur. "Um, all right, _you're_ a satyr. What in God's name am _I_?"

"No idea. Do, um, do they hurt?"

She shook her head, momentarily distracted from her panic. Thinking back on how it had felt when he'd touched the lines back on the bed, her mouth dropped open for a moment. "No, um . . . they're sensitive, but not _pain_ -sensitive."

His brows shot up. "You mean . . . ?"

"It was like you were touching these," she said, pointing to her breasts.

"I'm going to have to walk _right_ behind you down the corridors for the rest of the year, aren't I?"

"No, no, I think—hold on." She moved beside him, pulling the excess of his open shirt across her back. "Okay, now touch them." He rubbed his hand along her spine.

Shoulders drooping in relief, she sighed. "Oh, thank heavens. Seems it's only skin-to-skin contact that does it."

"Finally something that's good news," he said unable to help a breathless, but uncertain chuckle.

"I just wish I could understand why this is happening to us." She sounded so distressed.

Draco made an ugly, miserable sound in the back of his throat as he let his head fall back. "Okay, all right! We . . . we'll go talk to the bloody damned centaurs."

Reaching to cup his face, she tilted his head back down to meet his gaze. "Really?"

"Yes," he said, slipping his hands up to cover hers. "Just . . . give a little while to get how I feel about that under control, and we'll go. Okay?"

"You'd do that for me?" There was no masking the disbelief in her voice.

He smiled and nodded, his brows again lifting. "Apparently."

Hermione frowned, then, her expression thoughtful.

"What's wrong now?"

Shaking her head, she merely looked back at him. "I'm not sure. I just . . . can't help but feel like we're forgetting about something else we _should_ be worried about."

Draco mirrored her frown, trying to remember, as well.

* * *

Hermione winced, battling a quiet dread as she and Draco sat before the Headmistress' desk. They watched the elder witch draw a calming breath and massage her temples with the tips of her fingers.

After a painfully stretched moment, Professor McGonagall dropped her hands and opened her eyes. "Do I even want to know why you _both_ missed morning classes?"

The pair before her exchanged a look. She was already displeased with them, but having to sacrifice her lunch to have this terribly awkward little _meeting_ was even more displeasing.

"Well, you see Professor, we were, uh—" Hermione started.

Malfoy cut her off as he tried, "It was just, um—"

The Headmistress held up a silencing hand. "Never mind!" She doubted either was about to say anything incriminating, but the blush that had flooded their faces spoke _volumes._

Again she drew a calming breath and let it out slowly. "I will let you go with a warning," she said through lightly clenched teeth. "But if either of you shows such blatant disregard for appropriate conduct again, you will both be _severely_ disciplined. Am I clear?"

"Perfectly," they said in unison.

* * *

As they descended the spiraling lift, Draco slapped his hand against his forehead.

"What's the matter?" she asked—wasn't _she_ usually the one fretting when they left McGonagall's office?

"I was just thinking," he said, scowling, "after last night _and_ this morning . . . making it through tonight's going to be murder."

Hermione groaned her head falling back. Her and her _stupid_ experiment. Yes, of _course_ , they were going to go through with it, because this was her and Malfoy.

And _yes_ , she was fairly certain it was _going_ to be murder.


	9. Ninth Revelation

**Chapter Nine**

Ninth Revelation

Draco was hyper-aware of Blaise's presence from the moment his friend returned from the school hospital. He couldn't put his finger on it—Blaise was acting like his usual self, once more—but Draco simply could not help the feeling that there was something _off_ about the other wizard.

And whatever that something was had Draco feeling terribly on edge.

Draco conducted himself very carefully the remainder of the evening. Watching how he spoke, how he responded, wary not to act in _any_ way that would make Blaise wonder if something was wrong. After all, it was entirely possible that his possessive streak toward Granger was the source—that he'd not really forgotten Blaise's half-arsed attempt to ask her on a date yesterday afternoon.

He dared not let himself drift off as he lay in bed, his eyes half-closed and the covers tucked beneath his chin. He was waiting for Blaise to fall asleep . . . and praying it would still be with enough time to secret himself away somewhere before his transformation started.

As he strained, listening in the darkness for Blaise's breath to even out and grow shallow, he already caught himself wishing for the touch of his witch's fingertips. He fought against the sensation of his eyelids drooping as he recalled just that morning . . . . Having her before him, her hand stroking over him as she stared up at him, her lips parted and her skin flushed.

 _No, Draco, you idiot_ , he thought, shaking his head as he forced his eyes wide. Of course, it probably worked against him that he could still faintly smell that wild flower scent of hers on his blankets.

He sat up suddenly, throwing back the covers. Just as fast he froze, listening, his gaze fixed on Blaise's bed.

When his hurried action didn't cause any stirring or questioning, Draco's posture eased. Shaking his head once more, he stood and crossed to the door.

The corridor of the Slytherin boys' dormitory wing was blessedly quiet and vacant. He spared a moment to breathe a sigh of relief before he started toward the washroom.

And just in time, too, it seemed. As he neared the door, he felt that horrible pain radiate through him. He had a few more minutes, at most.

Slipping in and checking that no one else was using the facilities, he locked the door and allowed himself to sink to the floor.

He closed his eyes, biting hard into his bottom lip. The pain receded, by increments, as he felt the strangely-normal-now sensation of his horns protruding and winding back over his skull.

A chuckle rumbled out of him as he realized how much he wished Granger was there with him. He wanted to hear her voice, telling him this was going to be all right, to see the dismissive look in her eyes as she, again, insisted those lines on her back were a worry that could wait until _he_ was comfortable with the bloody centaurs.

To smell that wild-flower scent, and feel her hands moving over him in soothing touches.

A second chuckle, more self-derisive this time, followed as he wondered precisely what _those_ desires—and how they seemed to have little to do with the usual nightly activities—would mean for her little experiment.

* * *

Hermione gave a tiny, pleading half-whimper as she turned beneath her covers for the . . . . Oh, bloody hell. She'd lost count of how many times that'd be by now.

Finally she'd worked up the courage to look at herself closely in the mirror. Sure enough, the green Draco kept mentioning, and that Neville had pointed out, was there. The difference wasn't obvious from a distance, she supposed that was a good thing.

All it looked like from even a moderate distance was that her chestnut eyes had taken on a hazel sheen. She had the ready explanation of trying out a minor glamour charm for anyone who asked, now that she knew what it looked like.

She'd even tried to gauge the flower-scent. Casually asking Ginny to smell her hair and give an opinion on the smell of her _new shampoo_ , she learned that girls could smell it, too, so it wasn't exclusive to males. And, although pleasant, from what she understood, it wasn't piquing anyone's desires.

That was one silly, clichéd belief about fae creatures she could discard. Only about a hundred others to go. Fun.

She felt restless. Itchy in her own skin. She wanted to get up and walk about. She wanted to leave the castle . . . she wanted to cross the tree-line into the Forbidden Forest barefoot and feel the cool, dry grass beneath her skin. She wanted to reach her hands out and feel the gnarled bark of the trees beneath her fingertips.

She wanted to roll over in her bed and find Draco there beside her.

Hermione buried her face in her pillow, muffling a groan.

Because in all those things, all those strange, un-Hermione-like wants, he _was_ there. She could picture him so clearly. Holding her hand as she stretched her other arm out toward the dark, beautiful wilderness.

Standing there, so beautiful, himself, in his satyr form.

The thought sent delicious memories of that morning in his bed screaming through her head. The images caused sweet shivers to dance along her skin.

There _had_ to be something to ease this. It was agony, but not, and torture, regardless.

She shifted, reaching an arm around herself. Again biting her lip, she touched a fingertip to one of the glittering lines on her back.

A brief shock of pleasant tingling shot through her at the contact. But it wasn't the same as when Draco had touched them. Her eyelids fluttered at the recollection of just how pleasant _that_ had felt.

Poor Draco, somewhere in the castle, alone. Tucked away and hiding and just waiting for the dawn.

 _Alone_. That single word hammered through her skull a few dozen times before Hermione decided she couldn't take it anymore.

 _I have to go to him,_ she thought, sitting up and throwing back the covers. Her wants were second to the notion of him going through this on his own, for even a few hours.

But then, he _was_ her satyr. And, at least in this, they each were all the other one had. That knowledge was probably what was fostering this sense of closeness between them, she realized.

With a sigh at herself—good to know she wasn't simply becoming some ridiculous romantic—she swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was so focused on finding her slippers in the dark, on not making too much noise as she made her way to the door that at first, she thought she imagined the other sound in the room.

As she gripped the knob, she heard it, for certain. Whimpering.

Spine stiffening, she turned on her heel, facing back into the room. There it was, again. A faint, keening sound of pain.

And it was coming from Ginny's bed.

The sound of her friend suffering washed everything else out of Hermione's head. She found herself beside the ginger-haired witch in a heartbeat.

* * *

 _Running, running. So much running. Her legs hurt, her lungs seared. But he_ wouldn't _stop._

 _Every time she glanced back over her shoulder, he was another step closer. Yet, he never seemed to get near enough to catch her._

 _She could feel it when he reached for her—the tips of his oddly-long nails scraped her back, his fingers tangled in her hair, but never quite enough to pull her back to him._

 _Stumbling into an unexpected clearing on unsteady feet, she forced herself to keep moving. Ignoring the wooden throne in the center. Ignoring the chance to glimpse the face of the girl who occupied it._

 _Something about the throne gave him pause, she realized, as she glanced back, again. His black, gleaming eyes were fixed on that other girl as Ginny ran._

 _She wanted to slow, wanted to let his distraction give her a moment's respite._

 _Then she turned her head forward to find him standing before her._

* * *

"Ginny!"

Brown eyes snapped open. Hermione's panicked whisper pulled Ginny from her nightmare so seamlessly she almost didn't realize she was awake until she saw her friend's worried face over hers in the night-darkened room.

The tip of her nose stung suddenly and her eyes welled—a decidedly un-Ginny-Weasley-like reaction, but then she'd never been one to have nightmares. It had just felt _so_ real.

"I . . . ." She took a deep breath and tried again. "I had a nightmare."

"I know, I know," Hermione said, her voice soothing as she settled on the bed beside Ginny, gathering the other girl into her arms. "It's okay, Gin. I'm here."

Ginny snorted a laugh and then sniffled. "You don't need to baby me."

"'Course not." Hermione smiled as she pressed her cheek to the top of her friend's head, as, despite her words, Ginny looped her arms around Hermione and held tight.

After a few moments of silence, Ginny tugged the covers out from beneath Hermione to pull them up, covering them both. Hermione recognized the gesture. Ginny had been on the other end of this the few times Hermione'd had nightmares about Bellatrix Lestrange following the War.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Ginny shook her head, but then seemed to think better on it. "I was being chased . . . . I think I'm vaguely traumatized by having to care for Blaise Zabini this morning."

Hermione giggled. "Oh, yes, because taking care of some fit pure-blood with dreamy dark eyes is _so_ taxing."

Though she couldn't help but snicker, Ginny shook her head. "I dunno. I'll ask Madame Pomfrey to check me out in the morning. He was having nightmares, too. She said there wasn't anything the matter with him, but . . . she could be wrong, I suppose."

Brow furrowing, Hermione thought back on her friend's words. "Wait . . . was it _Blaise_ chasing you?"

With a nod, Ginny snuggled against her, determinedly closing her eyes. "It was him, but it _wasn't_. It was weird."

"As is usually the case with nightmares."

"True. He just . . . he still looked like Blaise, but . . . ." Ginny chewed her lip a moment as she thought out her words. "He had red skin . . . like apple-red. Crimson. And his eyes were black, through-and-through black. As if they weren't human eyes."

Hermione only nodded, laying her head on the pillow beside the other girl's. After a moment, she found herself asking, "Do you want me to go to Madame Pomfrey with you in the morning?"

Uttering a sleepy laugh, Ginny said, "I can _probably_ manage, but yes, please."

Somehow, Hermione managed to fall asleep, cradling Ginny as though she might keep a second nightmare at bay. She couldn't quite figure it out. The Blaise in Ginny's dream was probably just that—the fiction of a dream—and it didn't sound like any creature Hermione'd ever heard of.

So then, why did Ginny's description leave an unsettled feeling in the pit of Hermione's stomach right up until the moment slumber claimed her?

* * *

Hermione had Ginny settled with Madame Pomfrey—who looked expectantly skeptical about the contagious nightmares idea—before she headed to the Great Hall for breakfast.

As she passed the steps leading down to the Slytherin dungeons, someone slipped a hand around her elbow and pulled her backward. Hermione had her wand drawn and at the ready by the time she found herself behind a stone column, a pair of familiar silver-grey eyes staring down at her.

Shoulders drooping, she lowered her defenses, but not without giving him a smack on the arm. "Bloody hell, Draco! You startled me."

He feigned a pout, that—being a Malfoy—still managed to look like a haughty facial expression. "Oh? You mean you _didn't_ miss me last night?"

Laughing in spite of herself, she stowed her wand in her bag. Gripping her fingers into the collar of his shirt, she pulled him down for a kiss.

Hermione let it go on for _just_ long enough that she knew he'd be breathless when she pulled back. "I was 'bout ready to crawl out of my skin last night!"

Inhaling deep through his nostrils, he dropped his forehead down against hers. "Me, too. I think it's safe to say your experiment was a _spectacular_ failure."

"Oh, I don't know." She bit her lip and shook her head, tracing his jaw with the tip of her finger. "I mean, yes, I couldn't help thinking about _what_ we've been doing, but I was worried about _you_."

He nodded, admittedly watching her mouth as she talked. "Oh, Merlin's beard! You, too?"

Her eyebrows shot up as she uttered an airy laugh. "Oh, worried about _me_ , were you?"

"Not worried, but I . . . ." He scowled.

She couldn't help but laugh again at how quick he was to shut down. "Careful there, Malfoy. You _almost_ talked about feelings. _I_ almost came to looking for you last night, if it makes you feel any better."

"What stopped you?"

Hermione frowned, remembering the details from last night. "Ginny had a nightmare. About Blaise, of all people."

"Blaise?"

She nodded. "Have you noticed anything odd about him lately? Because she said he was having nightmares, too, and he _was_ ill, we both saw it."

Draco's brow furrowed as he tipped his head side to side. "Well, aside from when he had that fever, he's _seemed_ like himself, but I'm really not the best judge of other blokes' attitudes these days, am I?"

"I suppose not. We should get to breakfast."

"I could stand for another kiss before we part ways," Draco said, a wicked grin curving his lips.

She sagged just a little in his arms. Sneaking around at night for places to be alone was one thing, but she didn't like the idea of not being able to be close to him during classes, either.

"We should tell everyone we're dating."

Grey eyes shot wide. "Are you mad?"

"No. Look, it's not like it isn't true, right? I mean, after a fashion."

"Okay, yes, but—"

"And wouldn't it be better if we don't have to sneak off, or wait for the right moment when no one else is around to do something as simple as kiss or hold hands?" Hermione asked. She knew his real concern was what would happen when this got back to his parents, but the Malfoys' displeasure over this wasn't as troublesome as their son's nightly transformations, or their _favorite_ Muggle-born witch's mystery condition.

He smirked, shaking his head. "The kissing, I'll agree on. But, do I _really_ seem the holding-hands sort?"

"No, but you are, now."

Before Draco could react, she interlocked her fingers with his and started tugging him toward the entrance of the Great Hall.

Hermione braced herself, but, as she walked into breakfast, hand-in-hand with Draco Malfoy, she found no great calamity. No gasps and pointed fingers. No one dropped their utensils noisily against their plates in shock.

Other than a few looks of surprise from people they personally knew, there was nothing that she expected. Draco walked her to the Gryffindor table, giving her an _un_ expected kiss in front of everyone before making his way to the Slytherins.

Even Pansy, much to Hermione's shock, didn't look upset. Mildly confused, and surprised, absolutely—as though the squid from the Black Lake had just walked in on two legs.

"So," Neville said in a whisper across the table as Hermione filled her plate, "you and Malfoy?"

Her shoulders shook in a silent laugh. "We only sort of made it obvious, huh? I thought everyone would be a bit more . . . . Well, just _more_ about it, I suppose."

He shrugged, offering her a grin. "After _everything_ we've all been through? You're joking, yeah?"

As she dug into her breakfast, she glanced across the tables. Draco met her gaze, his expression telling her he was just as surprised by the non-reaction of their classmates as she was. Though, Pansy's mouth appeared to be running a mile a minute, no doubt asking him how, and when, and every other question she could possibly think of to explain Draco Malfoy dating Hermione Granger.

Blaise sat by, his face expressionless as he listened. He caught Hermione's eye, holding her attention a moment. With a bored air, he returned to his breakfast.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Same old Blaise Zabini, wasn't it? She _had_ to leave Ginny's nightmare as exactly what it was—a figment of a girl's imagination. Hermione wasn't immune to flights of paranoid fancy, though she liked to pretend she was.

Something odd befalling Blaise, too, was _not_ a thing she wanted to add to her current list of concerns.

* * *

She was having the most pleasant dream that night; all of the things she'd wanted the night before were happening. Her bare feet moved over cool, dry grass. Her fingertips brushed the gnarled bark of trees. When she breathed, her lungs filled with the deep, earthy scents of the Forest.

Then Hermione opened her eyes.

The mottled darkness of the Forbidden Forest under moonlight surrounded her. Forcing a gulp down her throat, she looked down. She was barefoot in the grass, sure enough.

Glancing over her shoulder, she could see the castle back through a break in the trees. She wasn't simply on the edge of the Forest, like last time. She was _in_ the Forest.

"Lady."

Hermione snapped her gaze toward the familiar voice. There Firenze stood, one hoof clomping against the forest floor. Though he'd never say it, the gesture spoke of impatience. Had he been waiting for her to realize where she was?

"Firenze? Why am I here, again? You know, don't you?"

The centaur blinked those impossibly bright eyes of his as he nodded. He backpedaled a step, waving her toward him.

* * *

Draco was making his way through the dark, up to the main floor. He'd agreed to meet Hermione in the same corridor where she'd found him that first night. The freedom to be around one another all day long was fine, but prying and curious gazes had still left them little time alone.

As he reached the corridor, only to find no Granger, he glanced out the castle window. That was when he noticed the distant, bushy-haired figure disappear into the tree line of the Forbidden Forest.

"Oh, bloody _hell_! Not this, again," he said from between clenched teeth as he headed to follow her.


	10. Tenth Revelation

**Just a quick heads up : **Next week's update will be the last of the pre-written chapters of this fic. After that, this story will move to the 'sporadic updates' label, under which it will be updated infrequently, _but_ with entirely new content, until it is complete.

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

Tenth Revelation

Hermione winced as she walked beside Firenze deeper into the Forest. The cool night air against her back through her nightdress was making her uncomfortably aware of the glowing lines, but more than that . . . . her skin was starting to ache.

She stopped in midstride, curling her hands over her shoulders.

The centaur halted after a step. "Lady?" he said, his brow lifting as he swung around to face her.

She met that impossibly blue gaze as she shook her head. "Sorry," she said in a whisper, though she wasn't entirely sure why she was apologizing. "It just hurts." Frowning, he backpedaled and stepped around her.

Hermione couldn't help a shiver as he reached down, sweeping the mass of her hair off her back with one hand, and tugging aside one of her nightdress' straps with the other. For a moment, she thought he might touch the lines, but the state of them just now made the very notion of skin-to-skin contact give her a start.

"We will ease your suffering, Lady." Firenze set her hair and nightdress right and turned back to his original path.

She fell into step beside him, once more. Surprised that her gaze had adjusted to the nighttime darkness of the Forest interior before she'd even noticed, she swept her attention around the path.

There were hoof prints crisscrossing everywhere, of varied sizes, though she guessed the deeper impressions were from the centaurs, rather than the unicorns, due to their greater weight. The sound of things scurrying in the underbrush met her ears, and almost seemed like voices whispering to her.

The further into the Forest they went, the more she heard . . . but true voices, now. Growing louder, and she understood.

He was bringing her to the centaurs.

They rounded a thick stand of trees into narrow clearing. A small group of his fellows stood, as though in wait for them.

As they saw her beside Firenze, they lowered in a bow, moving together in a single, fluid motion. She couldn't say she expected the others to behave as Firenze had, as they didn't like two-legged beings very much, but then she'd always been a bit different than other humans, and now, well . . . now she was something _more_ to them, wasn't she?

Firenze cautioned her to stay as he moved toward the group. "She is in pain." The others rose up to their full heights as they exchanged troubled glances.

"What?" a grey-skinned centaur demanded.

"It is happening, yet it is too soon. She is not ready."

She thought maybe the grey-skinned one was an elder, as it seemed the others looked to him to conduct this inquiry. That probably made Firenze their diplomat, as he was the one least opposed to dealing with humans and their ilk.

"Where is her consort?"

Hermione nearly laughed at the expression that flickered across Firenze's features as he shrugged. He might as well have opened his mouth and said _Fucked if I know_.

After a few uneasy glances around, he said, "I believe he is still in the castle. Yet, he will probably be along, soon."

Her thoughts echoed his words—she was almost positive Draco would find his way to her, shortly. And he would _not_ be happy about it. At the moment, however, she was too uncomfortable to stand about and patiently await his arrival.

The grey-skinned one looked to Hermione, then. Once more he bowed before he spoke to her, directly. "Lady, please, we will help you until he is with you. This way."

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slow, nodding. The elder and the others turned, striding down a path she'd not noticed a moment earlier—hardly her fault, she considered, as the Forest canopy dipped and doubled over above it, concealing the path's space from view—while Firenze hung back to walk with her.

* * *

Draco bit down on a growl as he reached the tree-line of the Forbidden Forest. Hermione was nowhere to be found. He'd headed precisely for the place he'd seen her, so she couldn't have doubled back to the castle.

Which could only mean she'd ventured _into_ the Forest. Full of monster-spiders, werewolves, and Merlin knew what else, and she'd just _tra'la'la'ed_ in there in her bloody nightdress!

Rotating his shoulders and squaring his jaw, he tried to remind himself that if he killed any of her precious centaurs, she'd never forgive him.

A grim expression set over his features as he started through the Forest.

If he found any of them too close to her, he wasn't certain he'd be able to stop himself.

* * *

The spring was . . . . Hermione didn't have words to describe it.

The centaurs had deviated from the hidden path, guiding her through a thick bit of woods—how she hadn't managed to step on rough bark, or sharp stones in her bare feet was beyond her. Two moved ahead of the group and pulled back a dense press of foliage.

They all moved into a bow once more as Firenze extended a hand, gesturing for her to go on.

Uncertain what lie beyond, she'd drawn a deep breath. Steadying herself, she walked forward, stepping past the sweep of leaves and brush, to find herself before a spring.

The near-perfect ring of trees surrounding it allowed for the unfiltered light of the moon and stars above to pour down, brightening the thin bit of sandy shore that ringed the gently lapping pool, and turning the surface of the water a pale silver-blue.

 _Who would have imagined something like_ this _could exist here?_ she thought, dazed by the beauty of it.

She spoke over her shoulder, even as she moved toward it, "What is this place?"

"It is the Lady's Fountain," Firenze said, moving beside her and pointing with his chin—directing her gaze to a patch of grassy earth in the center of the pool. "These waters will staunch your suffering for a time."

Hermione turned to look at him. "I don't understand. Why is all this happening to me? Please tell me."

His brow furrowed, as though he didn't comprehend her words. "Because the Lady is _you_."

"No, no." She sighed; that barely even made sense. "Why _am_ I the Lady? What am I?"

"You are one of the blood," he said his gaze intent on hers. "You carry the necessary heritage. Beyond that, you have proven yourself to the Powers that Be as a protector, a warrior, a healer."

Protector, warrior, healer? That did vaguely sum up her war record, she considered, nodding.

The grey-skinned one drew closer then, as well, assisting in the explanation—yet giving her the sense that they were surprised she didn't know any of this. "You have proven yourself worthy of the Lady's title, though you did not know there _was_ anything to prove. That is what makes you fit to bear this burden."

Again, she nodded processing this, even as she found herself moving toward the water—her legs working quite of their own volition. "And you said the necessary heritage, so I'm descended from someone who's . . . ?"

"A Child of the Wood," Firenze said, nodding as he joined her at the water's edge.

That phrase sounded familiar to Hermione . . . . Had she come across it in her recent research, perhaps? Yet, the words spilled from her lips, as though she'd known all along, "A wood nymph?" Her new mischievous streak, the green in her eyes, the bloody flower scent. It all made sense, now.

Nodding again, Firenze bent at the waist, scooping her into his arms.

Finding herself suddenly in the air, she forced down a reflexive yelp. Hermione looked from the centaur, to the ground where she'd just stood, and back.

"What are you doing?"

"The pool is deeper than it appears; I will take you to the knoll."

As he walked into the water, Hermione realized he was right—he was up to his flanks in the water by the time he set her down on the grass. She'd have had to wade through and get herself drenched.

"Relax now, Lady. We will water the lines."

She uttered a relieved sigh, understanding what they meant to do. Sitting on her knees, she put her back to them, carefully lowering the straps of her nightdress and wriggling it down to fall about her waist as she covered her breasts with her arms. The whisper of the night air against the glittering lines made her tense, tears pinging in the corners of her eyes.

Hermione draped herself forward, pressing her chest to her legs and closing her eyes.

* * *

Draco thought he'd lost the trail—he was rather certain the ease with which he was able to follow where Hermione'd been had to do with what he was, now. But then he heard it . . . .

Coming from deeper within the Forest. Hermione's voice . . . . And she was _moaning_.

"Granger," he said, a growl running beneath his voice as he immediately started toward the sound.

It was _definitely_ the satyr in him, he thought, as he tore through the trees and brush as though they weren't even there. Her voice rang louder in his ears, only stoking his anger.

After minutes of hard running, he came upon a group of centaurs clustered before a thick veil of leaves.

They all bowed at the sight of him, but he was too displeased at the moment to find any sort of joy in the show of fealty. Somewhere just beyond them, he could hear her.

"Where _is_ she?"

Two of the creatures rose, pulling aside the veil.

Draco stepped through, though he couldn't spare the interest to take note of the unearthly surroundings. The moonlight filling the spring barely registered on him, nor did the silver-blue water, or the ring of pale and sparkling sand.

All he saw was the two centaurs standing in the water. . . . . And Granger bowed between them as they cupped their hands under the spray filling the pool and delicately poured the water over her back.

There was that moaning whimper of hers as she shivered under the bizarre treatment.

"Get away from her!"

The centaurs paused, turning as one to look at the satyr.

"Horned One, we are—"

"Don't give me that Horned One shit right now," Draco said through clenched teeth as he stepped to the water's edge. The last thing he wanted right now was to listen to any of her _friend_ Firenze's words.

"Draco, please, stop," she said, her voice low and trembling. "They're helping me."

The grey-skinned centaur seemed about to say something, but Firenze shook his head, giving him a look that was unreadable to the male watching them.

"She is in pain, we are only doing what is necessary to ease it." Firenze reached out, touching a finger to Hermione's forehead before he started out of the water.

The other one followed suit.

Draco bit the inside of his lip as the centaurs joined him at the water's edge. "If she needs help _, I'll_ do it."

"As you _should_." There was no masking the hint of venom in Firenze's voice—the expression on the grey-skinned centaur's face showed he shared the younger creature's sentiment. "You are _not_ doing your duty, Horned One."

That . . . gave Draco pause. "What?"

"Why do you think you transformed so fast?" Firenze shook his head, unsure why the fool had never asked—he would have gladly supplied him the answers. "It is because she chose you. You are to guard her while her transformation occurs. Hers is special, it is slow and can be painful. _You_ are the one who should be easing her suffering."

The grey-skinned one reached out, clamping his hand over Firenze's shoulder. "Her consort is here, now. Let us leave them."

The centaurs bowed and took their leave. Draco watched them disappear through the sweep of foliage, but did not budge until he heard the hoof beats of the entire group move away from the spring, and eventually vanish further into the Forest.

Swallowing hard, he turned to face the witch in the center of the spring. She hadn't moved, only raising up enough to turn her head and look at him. The lines on her back glittered and pulsed in the moonlight, and now that the centaurs were gone, he could actually _see_ the ethereal qualities of the spring.

She only watched him, her lids sweeping down and drifting back up in slow blinks. He was so thick, sometimes, but she was only glad he'd finally found her. And, perhaps, she was a bit awestruck at his beauty beneath the pure, silvery light. His long hair, the majestic horns, the lean muscles of his arms and chest . . . .

Did he never sleep in a full set of pyjamas she wondered, a small smile lifting one corner of her mouth despite her discomfort.

He stepped into the water, expecting it to be cold, but it was warm, pleasant. _Perfect_ , actually. He kept his gaze on her as he moved forward, the lapping water circling just above his waist when he reached the knoll.

"Why didn't you tell me you were in pain?" He moved as he asked, cupping his hands beneath the spray of the spring, as he'd seen the centaurs doing.

She stretched her back beneath his hands as he gently poured the water over her. Trembling a little, Hermione kept her gaze on his. "It only just started."

"Seems I can't let you out of my sight," he said, a smirk curving his lips as he reached for another handful. "Is this really helping?"

She nodded. "That's, apparently, what this spring is for. It's _mine_." A breathy laugh spilled from her lips as she shook her head, a confused expression slipping over her features. "It's supposed to be able to heal me and keep me connected to the Wood."

They both fell quiet, and the night filled with the sounds of the forest, and the splashing of water he poured over her.

"You worried me," he said, surprising her.

"Sorry, I was sleeping in my bed, and then I just . . . found myself in the Forest. I didn't even mean to come here."

He nodded unable to believe what he was about to say as he traced the glittering lines with wet fingertips. "Maybe we should tell Professor McGonagall about all this."

She turned toward him fully, catching his hands in her own. The ache and sting had eased, finally; those last few times, she'd just been enjoying the simplicity of the moment.

"Are you sure?"

He shrugged, looking down at her smaller, slender fingers wrapped around his. "I meant what I said. I can't let you out of my sight, and your _friend_ just confirmed that. Maybe . . . maybe if we tell her what's happening, we can get some special provisions from her."

"Like . . . sharing a room? So you don't have to hide during your transformations, and you can keep track of me while I'm sleeping?"

"Something like that." He bit his lip, he'd been trying to be good, but now he couldn't help it as his gaze dropped to her bared breasts. "Of course, there would be other purposes, but that's the main idea."

"You didn't even want to tell people we were a couple this morning, remember?"

"No, no. I just thought it would be met with more of a fuss, is all. Look, it couldn't hurt to have the woman who runs Hogwarts in the loop, could it?"

"It would be nice not to have to sneak around," she said as she lowered her gaze to his hands—he'd hooked his fingers into her nightdress and the sides of her knickers and began working them down over her hips and the tops of her thighs.

Draco grinned as she moved just enough to assist him in tugging her clothes from her, entirely. "We'd probably have to convince her _this_ sort of thing isn't actually that high on our priority list."

She nodded as he guided her to lie on her back, before he cupped more of that warm, perfect water to pour over her. "We might have to repeat that little show-and-tell we did with Hagrid."

He sank his teeth into his bottom lip, holding in a groan as she parted her legs before him. "I think it might be worth it to try."

"Okay," she said holding his gaze as he dipped his head to brush kisses along the inside of her thigh.

He worked his way down, drawing so close that she shivered and wiggled excitedly in the grass. So, of course, he pulled back, delighting in the disappointed sound she made before he started down the inside of her other leg.

He parted her with gentle fingers, finally dropping his gaze from hers to look at what was before him. He loved the little choked sound of embarrassment that tore out of her throat.

Leaning closer, he let his eyes drift shut as he flicked the tip of his tongue over her, experimentally.

She watched him, still in shock even while he sent sweet tingling shivers dancing through her. He buried his mouth between her thighs, kissing her there as he'd kiss her mouth, and she couldn't help moaning as she rocked her hips beneath him.

"Not going to ask me if you're doing this right?"

He laughed against her as he shook his head. She tasted so sweet, he found he almost didn't want to stop. Even when she tensed beneath him, her fingers curling into his hair.

Even as she came against his tongue, speaking his name in a breathless murmur.

She sank back into the grass as her hips moved in shaky rocking motions beneath his mouth, once more. He seemed content to keep going at this—she was _going_ to remember how eager he was to do this—until she touched her fingers to the base of his horns, lifting his head.

Meeting her gaze, his silver-grey eyes hazy, he nodded. He climbed up onto the knoll, shifting to push off his soaked pyjama bottoms.

She dragged her hands down, tracing her fingertips along his chest and over his abdomen as he moved on top of her. The way he gasped when she circled him with her fingers brought a smile to her lips.

He followed her guidance as she positioned him, pushing his hips as her hand slipped away, sliding into her.

Hermione wrapped herself around him as he withdrew and thrust into her, again and again. She lifted her head, biting and lapping at the side of his throat—for which he rewarded her with a satisfied growling sound.

Draco slid his hands beneath her, holding her to him as he sank into her. She clenched around him, the fine tremors running through her muscles clawed at him, making him want to let go far too soon, but then he'd been hard from the moment he'd touched her while he still stood in the water.

Seeming to understand his thoughts, she cupped his face, forcing his gaze to meet hers. "Just a little longer," she said in an airy whisper.

He nodded, lowering his head to catch one of her nipples between his teeth. His pace quickened, slamming into her hard and fast as he nipped and suckled at the sensitive skin.

She screamed behind closed lips as her head fell back. Her limbs tightened around him and she lifted her hips to meet his thrusts.

He used his hands on her to hold her there, driving into her harder, still. He couldn't hang on, though. The moment her body gripped him as she came, he couldn't stop himself from letting go.

Hermione shuddered, crying out his name as he sank into her in frantic, jerking thrusts. He froze just as her orgasm ebbed and she shifted beneath him to move around herself around him, grinding her hips until he was completely spent.

He lifted his head from her breast as they caught their breath, his gaze meeting hers.

She slipped her arms around his neck as he withdrew entirely, and pulled him to lay beside her.

For a long while, they merely stared up at the moon and stars above, their slowing exhalations filling each others' ears.

"Granger?"

"Yes, Malfoy?"

"I still don't like the centaurs."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh as she swatted tiredly at his shoulder.


	11. Eleventh Revelation

**Author's Note :**

This is the last pre-written chapter for this story (and I do apologize for not having uploaded it sooner, I needed a serious break from fanfic for a bit). From this point forward, this fic continues under the *Sporadic Updates* label.

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

Eleventh Revelation

Ginny hurried along from breakfast toward the hospital wing. She'd tossed and turned last night—she could've sworn at some point, Hermione got out of bed and didn't return until nearly sunrise, but she hadn't had the energy just then to actually check—and was fighting a fair amount of exhaustion this morning. There was a flickering thought that perhaps not sleeping well was preferable to sleeping deeply only to have that sleep interrupted by a nightmare.

Perhaps, if there were no patients who needed tending this morning, Madam Pomfrey might take pity on her and allow her to catch a quick nap in one of the corner beds.

As she went, she double-checked her bag, making certain she had all of her classwork for later that day. She never saw him until they'd already bumped into one another, and she was stumbling backward.

Blaise shot forward, catching her neatly around the waist with one arm. He set her on her feet only a heart stammering moment before her bum would've hit the floor.

"Bit distracted, there, Weasley?" he asked with a charming grin.

The redhead smiled back in spite of herself, even as her brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. Blaise Zabini didn't give flirty looks to the daughters of blood-traitor families, after all.

But then, he'd not been so terrible when she'd tended him in the hospital the other day. Maybe she was only suspicious of him because of that unsettling nightmare.

That could hardly be his fault, now could it?

"Yeah, sorry, I've just . . . ." She shook her head against a flash of black eyes and red, clawed fingers past her mind's eye. "I've just got a lot of my mind. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

His brows inched together, that grin brightening. "Still playing nurse? I'm sure I could think up some mild injuries for you to treat."

Ginny's jaw fell open—it _wasn't_ her imagination, he was flirting with her! "Blaise Zabini! _What_ has gotten into you?" Whatever it was _must_ be working, she realized, because, despite her shock, there was an edge of amusement to her voice.

He shrugged, the movement fluid and oddly graceful, in an almost lazy way. "I dunno, I actually thought I liked talking to you the other morning. Thought, maybe, you'd like to go with me to Hogsmeade this weekend?"

She stood a bit straighter as she tried to process his request—Blaise was asking her on a date? _Really_?—yet her mouth was running before she could stop it. "Sure, yeah, okay."

Again, that charming grin lit his features. "Good," he said.

Leaning close, he swept her hair over her shoulder and dropped a kiss on her cheek. His lips lingered, and he inhaled deeply a moment.

Ginny found she couldn't move as he hovered in front of her like this. There was an odd combination of her heart thundering against her rib cage, but sudden, unexpected butterflies zipping through her stomach.

For the briefest moment, she thought he might bring his lips to her throat—what an _odd_ notion. Odd or not, it only added to those butterflies to imagine his mouth moving along the pulse below her ear.

She could feel the rush of his breath against her skin as he inhaled.

Pulling back again, he nodded. "See you Saturday, Weasley."

Blaise stepped around her and continued down the corridor and Ginny lost the fight with herself to turn and watch him stroll away. Huh, she'd never noticed before, but she sort of liked the way he moved when he walked.

Snapping back into the moment, Ginny pivoted to face the hospital wing again. She clamped her hand over her mouth as she realized what just happened.

"Oh, my God! I just made a date with Blaise Zabini!"

"Yeah, you did," an amused voice remarked from behind her, making her jump a bit.

"Neville," she said with a gasp, spinning to meet his mirthful gaze. "How long have you been standing there?"

He chuckled. "Long enough. So, first Hermione and Malfoy, now you and Blaise? I guess war really _does_ change people."

Ginny nodded, a bit put off that she'd not noticed him before. "Next thing you know, you'll be caught snogging Pansy Parkinson."

Offering a broad, goofy grin that reminded her he had not always the svelte, heart-fluttering creature standing before her, he winked. "Who says I'm not working on it?"

"Oh, well, maybe we'll bump into you two strolling about Hogsmeade this weekend?"

Neville shrugged, pretending he didn't recognize his friend's carefully-worded dare. "Maybe. I'll see you in class."

Again, Ginny nodded. As he walked away, she started for the hospital wing once more.

Honestly, she'd thought she and Blaise had been alone the entire discussion. Could she really have been so focused on the Slytherin wizard that she'd somehow lost awareness of her surroundings?

"Nonsense, Ginny," she said to herself in a whisper as she shook her head. "You're just tired, remember?"

* * *

Hermione wanted to crawl under the chair she sat in as they faced Professor McGonagall. Draco had explained everything . . . . Well, everything that was important. Their constant shagging, they'd agreed, did _not_ make the list of important things the Headmistress of Hogwarts should hear about.

She _was_ glad he'd taken the burden of speaking on the situation. Yet, now, as the professor sat there, her eyes closed and her fingertips rubbing her temples, Hermione found she didn't _just_ wish she could crawl under her chair—she wished she could crawl under there and melt into a puddle.

And then sink into the floor.

"So . . . ." The elder witch finally started, pausing to utter a heavy sigh. This was a _lot_ to process right after breakfast. "You are requesting separate _provisions_ —to _co_ habitate—because of this situation?"

"You believe us?" Hermione couldn't mask the surprise in her voice; she'd thought for sure the woman would've demanded proof.

"I did not say that, Miss Granger."

The young woman tried to pull back the bloom of relief she'd just felt. "Well, we can prove it . . . or part of it, anyway. If you require proof about Draco, you can always speak to Hagrid." As she spoke, she stood from her chair and tugged up her jumper.

When she began pulling her shirt out from her skirt, Draco caught her wrist. "Granger? Are you sure you want to show her?"

Professor McGonagall's eyes only grew wider as she watched the interaction. Catching them snogging in the corridor was one thing, but witnessing Draco Malfoy acting _concerned_ for Hermione Granger was another matter, entirely.

"Yes," Hermione said, a gentle smile on her lips as she nodded. "I trust this woman with my life. Surely I can trust her with _this_."

The other witch hid a small, responding smile of warmth at the girl's declaration. Though, as admittedly curious as she was about these lines they'd mentioned, she was also worried.

She'd never heard of such a thing. There was a chance Albus might have, but he'd gone and wandered into some other portrait, again. The flighty and aloof demeanor he played at and hid behind during the years between the First and Second Wars sometimes seemed all that was left of the essence inhabiting that painting.

Hermione shimmied her shirt up as much as she could without actually unbuttoning or removing it. She cast a questioning look at Draco. He nodded in reply and she turned her back to the professor's view.

"Oh, my . . . . " Professor McGonagall rose from her seat and leaned over her desk to get a better look. "I have never seen anything quite like this."

"According to the centaurs, she's still changing," Draco said, his voice low and tinged with worry. "And she keeps sleepwalking. I keep having to hide out. It's _every_ night. Neither of us are sleeping because of this, Professor. _Please_ help us."

The professor reached her hand out to touch the lines, but the girl flinched before she could make contact.

"Please don't. They're sensitive."

Pulling her fingers back, Professor McGonagall nodded. She settled back in her seat and folded her hands on the desk before her. "Of course, I will help you. I will make the arrangements while you are in classes today."

Hermione nearly stopped in righting her shirt to gape at the woman over her shoulder.

"Thank you, Profess—"

"However," the woman said, cutting off Malfoy, "there are some conditions which _must_ be met."

"Of course there are," Draco mouthed the words—he didn't dare speak back to the woman openly when she'd just said yes—forcing Hermione to bite her lip, holding in a giggle.

"You will report to me each morning after breakfast. I am to be kept appraised of any changes, _any_ alterations to your circumstances, whatsoever. If one of you wakes with the _sniffles_ , I want you to tell me."

Swallowing hard, Hermione nodded as she fell back into her seat.

"Of course, Professor," they said at the same time, their voices mingling.

"Your studies are _not_ to slip."

Her tone, and the expression as she said that, had the couple seated across from her sharing a look, their cheeks reddening slightly. Did they _really_ think she wasn't aware? _Teenagers._

"Miss Granger, your parents are less likely to understand this situation, so I leave it to your discretion to inform them of this."

Hermione nodded. She couldn't begin to think how _that_ conversation would go. _Mum, Dad, you know how I'm a witch? Well, is there any chance you know which of our ancestors was a bloody_ fairy _? Because I've got_ that _, too!_

Not well, at all.

"Mr. Malfoy, I think it might be best if we have your parents come to the school and discussed things in person."

"All due respect, Professor, but you _must_ be barking!"

Professor McGonagall's brows shot up. Hermione winced, fidgeting in her seat at his outburst.

"I assure you, Mr. Malfoy, I am not _barking_. Your parents are both from prominent pure-blood families, their lineages well documented. There _is_ a possibility they may have some insight into this. Even if it is nothing more than rumor, or some far-fetched handed-down story."

Draco answered with a grudging nod. He doubted it, but sure, there was always a _possibility_.

"We are to examine this situation from every possible angle. My concern for your well-being is first and foremost." She turned her direct attention on Hermione. "The centaurs know what is happening? That does not surprise me. I would like to meet with them. Please, extend an invitation to Firenze on my behalf to discuss the matter. I will meet them at a location of _their_ choosing."

They each nodded, but Hermione could already feel the irritation rippling off Draco at the idea of her seeking out Firenze. She understood that his satyr-self thought the centaur—any of the centaurs, really, but Firenze most of _all_ —was a threat to his place at her side. His wizard-self should know better, she thought, but trying to convince him of that would only lead to another argument about her _friends_.

Maybe Firenze would know some way to rid Draco of his paranoia. Oh, wouldn't _that_ be nice?

She kept her snicker to herself, focusing instead on the professor. "Certainly, Professor. I'll go after classes today."

"I think you'll mean _we'll_ go," Draco said, not surprising _anyone_ in the room.

"Very good." Professor McGonagall nodded. "By the time you return, your new provisions should be ready. I will also apprise Madam Pomfrey of the situation. While she might need a centaur's assistance in the more ethereal matters of any examinations, I would prefer she check out each of you, to make certain you are both in good health, otherwise."

"Yes, Professor," they said in unison, as earlier. Such a thing should not come as a shock to either of them, they both realized.

"Good. Off to class with you."

Both students nodded, bidding the elder witch goodbye as they exited her office.

* * *

"Is it me," Hermione asked when they reached the corridor below, liking how Draco's fingers twined with her own as they walked to their first class, "or did she seem reluctant to actually say our _room_?"

"Of course she did." He shrugged. "She's probably going to go to pains to make sure no one catches on. Anyone who finds out about this is going to think we're secretly married, or something."

"Or worse," she said in a horror-stricken whisper. "They might think I'm pregnant!"

Draco's brows shot up and he halted in place. Hermione pivoted to face him, her expression mirroring his.

"Oh, Merlin's left arse cheek, have we been _so_ stupid!"

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out slow, the color draining from her cheeks as she nodded. "We, um, you know, it's only been a—a _few_ times, really."

Draco nodded, as well, the motion emphatic. His grey eyes grew impossibly wide.

"So I'm . . . I'm sure it's fine. But . . . ." She licked her lips nervously as she shrugged. "But if . . . if we _are—"_

"God, _please_ don't say the word," Draco said in a pleading whisper.

Her brow furrowed as she fidgeted in place. She was no more thrilled with the prospect than he was, but the plain truth of it was they'd been _wildly_ careless.

" _If_ we are, I'm sure Madam Pomfrey will be able to tell us for certain this afternoon."

Draco nodded. "Okay, yeah. Let's just . . . let's just get to class. And, for _God sake_ , let's remember to cast contraceptive charms from now on."

A bit relieved they weren't reacting to the possibility any worse, Hermione couldn't help a breathless laugh as she nodded.

As they walked, she remembered she'd have to explain this all to Ginny, who was _bound_ to notice her absence from their dorm room. She only hoped the ginger-haired witch's nightmare was an isolated incident—she would feel terrible if Ginny had to go through that again and she wasn't there to help her.

More than that, Draco would have to find some explanation for Blaise. While she was certain she could tell Ginny everything, she somehow doubted Draco and Blaise's friendship was on the same level.

There was a bizarre sensation in her stomach just then, like a wash of cool liquid. She wasn't quite sure why, but she felt oddly at peace with the idea of Draco _not_ sharing the truth of the situation with the other Slytherin.


	12. Twelfth Revelation

OMG! Here we are! The first new chapter for this story since its initial posting. Who's excited? This chick! . . . . And also mildly terrified, but here we go 😉

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve**

Twelfth Revelation

"Horns?" Ginny asked, her ginger brows shooting up into her hair. "As in . . . ?" She perched her hands atop her head, her index fingers curled upward.

Hermione laughed, nodding as she returned her attention to packing her trunk. She hadn't said a word until Ginny had given a solemn oath not to breath a syllable of what she was about to hear to anyone, but then, once Hermione did have that oath from her, _everything_ came spilling out. "Exactly. And he's terrified. His parents will be here tomorrow afternoon to discuss lineage with Professor McGonagall and a representative from the centaur colony, if you can imagine that." Hermione knew precisely who that 'representative' was most likely to be, and she kept the wince over the idea of having Draco and Firenze in the same space to herself.

Frowning thoughtfully, Gin flicked her wand, helping Hermione get the rest of her things neatly tucked away without actually moving from where she was lounged on her bed. "I think I'd be a little more terrified of this exam you're going to with Madame Pomfrey. I mean, imagine that meeting _and_ having to break it to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy that you're carrying about their pure-blood grand-bun in your Muggle-born oven?"

Her shoulders slumping, Hermione tossed back her head and groaned. "I'm really trying _not_ to think about that."

"Oh, I'm sorry, 'Mione. I don't mean to make you worry more, just . . . this is a lot to handle. I can't imagine actually being in the middle of it."

"Thanks, Gin." Sighing, the brunette stood and reflexively dusted off the bum of her school robes. "I suppose there's no delaying this checkup. I'm sure one of the elves will be by for my trunk later."

Exhausted as she was, Ginny pulled herself up from the bed and crossed the floor to throw her arms around her friend. "I know it's silly, as you're not really going anywhere, but I'm going to miss you."

Hermione drooped a bit in the other witch's embrace even as she hugged her back. "I know! It is silly, but this was fun, being roommates with you. Like summers at the Burrow."

There was a flash through Hermione's mind, then. Just a flicker, really, but there was a terrifying glimpse of memory. Blaise, crimson-skinned and black-eyed, exactly as Ginny had spoken of from her nightmare.

The girl had not mentioned another bad dream since that one, yet something about it stuck in Hermione's head. But then, she did have plenty to worry about as it was. Ginny was a big girl. Hermione could be a shoulder for her, but she couldn't protect her from her own imagination.

Pulling back, she circled Ginny's upper arms with her fingers in a gentle grip. "You will tell me if you've any more of those awful nightmares, yeah?"

Ginny smiled, though she was aware the expression was tired and not quite as strong as she'd hoped. She knew the nightmare had rattled her, despite that she'd still agreed to spend the day in Hogsmeade tomorrow with Blaise. She suspected that bad dream was nothing more than her own subconscious, acknowledging a spark of attraction to the wizard that she'd refused to realize when she'd tended him in the hospital wing the other morning. His sharpened and feral features in the dream nothing more than a . . . a twisting of her mind brought on by guilt. Certainly she and Harry were no longer together, but that didn't change that she felt a little bit as if she was being unfaithful to him, and guilt was an ugly emotion; in a way it made sense that an ugly emotion would have an ugly affect.

She was almost positive once she got past that feeling, there wouldn't be anymore nightmares, but she understood Hermione was worried for her.

"Of course I will. I promise."

* * *

Madame Pomfrey had been unexpectedly understanding during the examination. She'd patiently listened to everything the pair had said—which was bit uncomfortable for both of them, as they'd had no choice but to be more complete in their honesty with her than they'd been with Professor McGonagall—and had delivered an answer that had taken a weight off of both of their shoulders.

"You're not pregnant, Miss Granger."

The relief that swept through Hermione was so strong, she nearly collapsed backward. Meanwhile Draco, who'd been pacing like, well, like an expectant father as they waited for the results, stopped in his tracks and whirled on his heel to face the witches.

"Oh, thank _God_ ," he said, moving over to drape himself beside his mate on the hospital bed. He dropped his head onto Hermione's shoulder. "Sorry, I know that's not very supportive, but I don't think either of us would be prepared for the _other_ possible answer."

She laughed, reaching out to lace her fingers through his. "It's fine. Believe me, I feel the same way."

Madame Pomfrey nodded, making some notes. "I'm going to whip you up a special contraceptive concoction that will take into account both of your unique physiologies. I'll run the ingredients past your centaur friend when he visits the school next, just to ensure that I'm not doing anything incorrectly. Do you two think you could, well, how to put this delicately? Hold off until I have it ready?"

The couple shared a look, both wincing.

The Medi-witch held up her hands and shook her head. "Forget I asked. It's to be expected, I suppose, given your _conditions._ After all, you did already try to keep away from one another and that seemed to blow up in your faces rather spectacularly."

"Couldn't we just use a charm?" Draco asked, feeling the way Hermione's worrying was causing her to tense up.

Again, Madame Pomfrey nodded. "Certainly, but given what you've told me, it seems that your wits aren't always about you. Something with a more long-term effect is a safer bet. Simply try to be more cautious for the time being."

The younger witch relaxed at that. It made perfect sense. If they'd had their wits about them at all since this began, they wouldn't have had reason to panic in the first place.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy, if your parents are able to reveal anything about your lineage that could shed light on all of this, I'll need to know straight away. I can't be gone from the school hospital too long, so I won't be able to attend the meeting with the centaur and Headmistress McGonagall, but I'll be here. As for you, Miss Granger, I understand your family wouldn't be of much help in this matter?"

"Most Muggles don't believe in faeries. Getting them to believe in witches is tricky enough. They had no idea about magic at all until I received my Hogwarts letter."

"Your family is from France, yes?"

Hermione nodded. She knew that was one of the few things the Grangers and the Malfoys had in common. Her parents had been born in the United Kingdom, but their roots were in one of the smaller villages in the French countryside. "Yes."

Madame Pomfrey shrugged, setting aside her pad after another few notes scratched onto it. "Well, there's a chance your magical lineage and your . . . well, the lineage we're seeing present itself now are from different ancestors, entirely."

"You think it has nothing to do with whomever in my family had wizarding blood?"

"Pretty sure she just said that, Granger," Draco said, his admonishment tinged with mild sass and amusement.

"It's been a long week, Malfoy. I was simply trying to clarify."

A grin curved his lips at her feisty tone.

"Are you two quite finished?" Madame Pomfrey asked with a sigh. Teenagers. Worse, magical, faerie-imbued teenagers. This crop of students really had brought an entire volume of troubles she'd never imagined she would encounter over the last eight years, hadn't they? "Yes, Miss Granger. But the reason it comes up is that quite simply, like much of Western Europe, the woodlands of France were once lousy with Fair Folk. It was not unheard of for one of their kind to become smitten with a particular human."

"So, one of my ancestors was seduced by a faerie?"

"More than likely, yes. That being said, it's equally likely that your parents won't be able to help you learn anything new. My suggestion is to find out what you can about your French heritage, and then research the sort of Fair Folk who were said to frequent that area over the centuries. Yes, the centaur told you that you carry wood nymph ancestry, but given how fast these changes are occurring, there might be something _more_ there. You need to look for any other species of Fae that fit in with the changes you've noticed in yourself. Some crossbreeding over the generations might be to blame for the rapidity."

"Oh, I see. So not one of my ancestors was seduced by a faerie, but two? _Possibly?"_

"I could be wrong, but it is a possibility, yes."

Draco was snickering and Hermione fixed him with a glare. "What?"

"I was just thinking that maybe it's never been about me, maybe it's just something about Granger women that we 'Fair Folk' can't help but find sexy."

Oh, Hermione wanted to be cross with him. Yet, she understood. He was still so relieved that they'd not made their situation more strenuous that he couldn't help cracking jokes in the resulting giddiness.

Madame Pomfrey patted the younger witch's shoulder. "You've my sympathies in dealing with this one, Miss Granger."

"Oy," Draco said as Hermione laughed.

* * *

"Dear Lord," Hermione said, peering around the doorframe of the room Professor McGonagall had led them to. These quarters were a . . . well, to say they were a bit of a ways away from the more densely populated portions of the castle would not be an exaggeration. She understood the need for such a secluded area—less the chance of any students or other faculty spotting the two of them retiring for the night to the same room, or emerging from it together in the morning.

But the distance from the castle proper wasn't the cause of Hermione's awed whisper. It was the state of the room. Clearly the elves had been through and properly dusted and cleaned so the Medieval bedchamber gleamed as though everything in it was a newly crafted piece of furniture or freshly loomed fabric, but that was precisely the point. Their 'new' quarters were a Medieval bedchamber that, in itself, somehow managed to look new.

Draco stepped inside first as the lanterns placed around the room lit themselves. He knew he didn't exactly have a reputation for being brave—which was rubbish as far as he was concerned, since more than half the tasks he'd accomplished during his years at Hogwarts he could not even have attempted if he'd been as much of a coward as some seemed to think—but after everything that he'd faced over the last several days, alone, stepping inside ahead of Hermione to help set her jangled nerves at ease was indeed a small thing.

Their trunks had been placed before a massive oaken wardrobe, the doors of which stood open to show the vast interior. On the space before the bureau's mirror were a wide, soft-bristled brush and a gold fine-tooth comb; odd that these items should come with the room, but he imagined whomever had occupied this bedchamber last had probably left them behind, and the elves had seen no reason to be rid of them over simply cleaning them so they could have use once more.

What surprised him was that there was a single bed. Four-post with a dark velvet canopy and drapes secured with matched rope. But there was just one. Even with his awareness that Professor McGonagall was only pretending she didn't know how far things had gone between the couple, he expected to come in and find separate beds to drive home that she was trying to remain unaware.

"It's lovely." Hermione's voice behind him gave him a start—he'd not heard her step into the room. "May I ask whose it was? Why . . . why it's no longer in use, I mean?"

"The records are unclear, but there are disciplines simply no longer taught at Hogwarts—either because they were deemed too dangerous and outlawed by the Ministry or the Wizard Council of the Dark Ages, or because they were what we would now consider lesser disciplines, and thus absorbed into other courses. As each professor's room assignment is dependent upon which class they teach, there are a few such quarters which have been out of use for some time. This was the one which required the least repair."

Hermione tried not to let her imagination and curiosity run off with that, but it was difficult. Did that mean there were classrooms long-unused further along this corridor? Possibly with scrolls or lesson work from their forgotten or forbidden subjects still there, covered beneath layers of dust?

No . . _. no!_ The younger witch schooled her features and forced a deep breath. She and Draco _really_ had enough to manage without her not-so-accidentally setting off some long-forgotten deathtrap charm or something.

When she turned her attention to Draco and Professor McGonagall, she realized from their expressions that they'd read her reaction to this information. Just like she should've expected from people who'd gotten to know her over the past eight years.

Professor McGonagall offered a patient smile, recognizing not just Hermione's reaction, but her visible determination to _ignore_ that reaction. "Well, we're an hour past sundown, and you both still have to put your things away and get some rest. I will leave you to it, but I do expect you both in the Great Hall for breakfast—at a _reasonable_ hour—tomorrow morning."

The couple had the decency to appear mildly abashed at what the elder witch was implying. "Thank you, Professor," they said in unison as she backed out of the room and closed the door behind her.

As soon as they were alone, Hermione went to the bed and threw herself down.

"Um . . . ." Draco started as he watched her burrow beneath the covers—still in her school robes—and curl up on her side. "Granger?"

"I'm going to worry about putting away my things tomorrow sometime. It's just been such a long day, Malfoy," she answered in a whisper, still fuzzy on when the last time was that either of them had gotten a good night's sleep. "And maybe it's better if we don't, well, you _know_ , until we have that potion from Madame Pomfrey."

He nodded, pouting thoughtfully as he strolled over to stand beside the bed. "You're right. And getting some sleep—some _real_ sleep—sounds amazing."

She popped open one eye, watching him. "If it sounds so amazing, why are you pulling the blanket off me instead of getting _under_ it with me?"

Smirking, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and tugged her to lie on her back. "Oh, I will be, but that doesn't mean I don't intend for us to be as comfortable as possible when I do."

Hermione couldn't help mirroring his expression, though her version was far drowsier as he started undressing her. "I suppose there's no harm in that," she answered, letting her eyes drift closed again.

By the time he finally lay down beside her and pulled the blanket back up over them, she was nearly asleep, only giving a soft, affirmative murmur as he pressed his naked form to hers and rested his head on the pillow, his cheek against the top of her head. In a few hours, he'd be awoken by his transformation, but at least tonight, he'd be able to peacefully let himself drift right back to sleep once it was over.

* * *

The next afternoon, Hermione and Draco saw Ginny and Blaise . . . and Neville and Pansy, for some reason, off as they departed for Hogsmeade. Ginny being the only one in the loop—apparently Draco had told Blaise that his move from the Slytherin dorms was actually a punishment for less than stellar academic performance, and outright missing classes, thus far this year—they were going with the same basic idea, that they were stuck behind as Hermione volunteered to help Draco catch up so that his marks wouldn't suffer.

While they watched the four wander down the road away from the castle, Hermione couldn't help a shiver. Something in Blaise's presence had once set her feeling _off_. Not having terribly much experience being around him, she could not put her finger on what it might be. It made her feel small to consider that maybe she was so hopeful about Ginny and Harry's relationship that any wizard Ginny might date right now would inspire negative feelings in her.

But then she felt herself shiver again and when she looked up, she noticed that Blaise had glanced back at them.

Swallowing hard, she leaned into Draco's side. "Remember when I asked you if you'd noticed anything unusual about Blaise lately? Well, I think there's something off about your friend."

He nodded, a pensive scowl marring his features as he looped his arm around her shoulders and turned them in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. They'd managed to avoid his parents, who would be venturing into the Forest with Professor McGonagall for this meeting with Firenze. He didn't think he could handle speaking to them alone with all that was happening. Somehow Lucius might find a way to blame him for this befalling him, and Draco couldn't be certain he wouldn't snap at his father with the state his nerves had been in recently.

"So have I, but . . . . I don't know. Maybe I should talk to him. I've been sort of a shitty friend lately. Trying so hard to keep this all to myself. Not like that's exactly new for me, but I'm supposed to be his friend and I'm never there for him. Not like you and Weasley."

"Maybe Slytherins just aren't so good at friendship."

His grey eyes narrowed at her quip. "Oh, ha-ha."

* * *

By the time they arrived at the meeting place, Draco's parents and the Professor were already there. The three turned at their approach, and Hermione stopped in her tracks, nearly causing Draco to trip over her.

As Professor McGonagall waved them to continue forward, Lucius clasped his hands before him. "Draco . . . Miss Granger."

Stepping ahead of her, Draco slipped his hand around Hermione's and gave it an encouraging squeeze. "C'mon, you knew this would be nerve wracking," he said to her in a murmur over his shoulder and she moved rather deliberately into his shadow.

Hermione missed the way Narcissa Malfoy would not meet anyone's gaze. She was used to the pale-haired witch being a bit chilly, so her reticence did not register as unusual.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy," she said with a quick, polite nod.

"Finally, you have all arrived." Firenze's voice filtered through the trees and the five of them looked about. "Follow me so that we may speak at length. Further away from the lands of humans."

Hermione and Draco needed not much else to guide them as they turned and started in the direction of the centaur's voice. Narcissa moved to follow them.

Lucius and Minerva McGonagall exchanged a confused glance. "Where are you two going?" They couldn't be certain where, exactly, the voice had come from.

Hermione shrugged as Draco answered, "We can just . . . tell."

"Narcissa?" Lucius' voice was cold and dripping with suspicion at how easily she trailed after the children.

His wife did not turn to look at him. This did not bode well—she had been a bit withdrawn ever since Draco had owled them to explain the extraordinary situation in which he and Miss Granger had found themselves embroiled.

His eyes narrowing, he strolled along behind her, and Professor McGonagall fell into step beside him. He noted that her wand was drawn, clenched tight in her right hand. The Headmistress claimed to trust the centaurs, but she did not trust the woods, and in that he could not say he blamed her. Seeing the wisdom in her caution, he, too, drew his wand.

Draco and Hermione led them through a thicket, their surroundings darkening beneath the fuller canopy as they drew closer to the Forest's heart. The witch paused, reaching out to tap her fingers against a tree trunk.

At the soft, dull sound, flickering lights appeared. Given their intermittent glow, Lucius understood what they were—fireflies. The darkness here made their internal clocks a bit pointless, he supposed.

The spots of flickering brightness led them a bit deeper in before breaking away, the fireflies drifting back to wherever they'd been. The tree-line broke, revealing vine-entangled ruins of a structure that could no longer be identified. Beneath a crumbling archway stood an impossibly tall figure, half shielded by darkness.

Hermione stepped forward and the figure lowered in a bow before moving out of the shadows. Firenze, looking all pale-gold and sun-kissed as was typical, Draco thought in a sour tone. Firenze's eyes flickered over the assembly as he walked toward them.

Nearing them, he drew to a halt as his gaze fixed on Narcissa's. The pale-blue of the creature's irises was eerily similar to hers. Hermione remembered thinking how there was a resemblance between Draco in his nocturnal form and the palomino centaur. Still, nothing prepared her for his words.

"It is you. _You_ are the one who has barred your son from understanding his heritage."

Narcissa's lower lip trembled as she met the shocked eyes of her son, and then the angry confusion of her husband's face.

"I never thought my grandfather's stories were true," Narcissa whispered as though that were somehow explanation enough, looking the girl—to her son's mate, the recognized _Lady of the Wood,_ herself—for support.

Hermione immediately moved to place herself between the Malfoy wizards and Narcissa. Professor McGonagall could only watch this play out with wide eyes.

"Please, Draco, Mr. Malfoy. Let's hear her out."

Lucius remained silent, while Draco folded his arms across his chest and looked off into the distance. "Of course. Mother, if you would? Please tell us what you know. Tell me how this centaur knows something about me—about _you_ —that I don't."


End file.
